From Mini Cooper,with love
by SolatienRealms
Summary: Arthur Kirkland's in big trouble.When hunting for the contact number of Guinness World Records while driving at 40m/h,he nearly ran over a man and now the said man has Amnesia. A few streets away,Gilbert and Antonio are searching for their friend Francis who left their shared apartment but never came back. And the missing man only has Luck, Arthur and a Mini Cooper to blame.
1. The night which started it all

_**~~Chapter 1: The night which started it all~~**_

"Hey Francis, you still dating that creepy Belarusian?"

Francis looked up from behind the novel he _had_ been reading peacefully. A pair of red eyes met him. Great. Gilbert still hadn't grasped the concept of 'Personal Space.' And knowing the German, he never will.

"Her name is Natalya." After a second he added in a lower tone, "And don't call her creepy she might hear you."

"Look Amigo, you need to get a better girlfriend."

The two men turned to their right and spotted Antonio eating a Churro while sitting lazily by the bay window.

"Hey Dummkopf, we had a share and care policy didn't we? Share the éclair."

Antonio grinned as he swallowed the rest of the sweet treat, "It's a Churro."

Gilbert looked at the traitor, his jaw open wide. How dare he?

"Give that Back, you greedy, Spanish Tomato."

Antonio grinned at the German. "But I already ate it."

"I don't give a damn. Now give that Back."

Francis sighed as he saw Gilbert shake Antonio. His friends meant the world to him but it still didn't erase the fact that sometimes he seriously considers selling them off to Ivan.

He stood up and walked out of the room, he desperately needed to finish reading the book. He had to return it to the library the next day. He pulled on his coat, why should he lie to himself? One of the main reasons he was going out was because he knew that his friend will try to discuss about his love life and that is something he will like to avoid. Thank you very much.

He stepped out into the cold night air. He took a deep breath and found himself smiling. Contrary to popular belief, he actually loved night time for another reason and not what everyone usually thinks it to be. Everything seemed and smelt fresher. There were not many vehicles going about and most importantly not many people either. It was the only part of a day in which he could truly feel alone. Like the world spun only for him, Francis Bonnefoy. He wasn't just another person on earth. He meant something.

He walked quietly down the road. He wanted to go the park where he could read the book without any interference, where he could drown himself in pages and pages of ink in a world different to his own, away from his friends and away from Natalya.

Natalya… Ivan Braginsky's younger sister. She was…different. In more ways than one-

She was the only woman in her twenties who wore long gowns and had a large bow the size of her head pinned neatly on her hair.

She didn't talk much and when she did talk, it was always about Ivan.

She hated Francis.

The only reason she was dating him was because- as quoted- "One day when I kill Alfred, I need you to provide me with an alibi"

He had dated seventeen girls before her and was known as the city playboy. A reputation he wanted to shake off by dating her for five months and twelve days as of today; yes he has been counting.

She was handy with a knife.

She scared him to death and beyond.

He pulled his coat on tighter. Everyone he knew had told him to get his act together and date someone seriously, that was right before he started dating Natalya. Now they wanted him to break up with her. He sometimes couldn't understand it. What did they want him to do? When he was single they encouraged him to get it on with more people, when he was dating many girls they wanted him to be in a serious relationship, now that he was in a serious relationship, they wanted him to break up with the girl. Love was complicated but sometimes friendship was even more.

He spotted a homeless man shivering on the pavement. The weather was cold not one meant for a man to be outside in without even a jacket. He didn't think about it when he did it, it was sympathy for the man which led him to remove his jacket and drape it around the man's shoulders. The man smiled graciously, Francis in return shook his head and smiled at the man before standing up and making his way to the park. But the more distance he travelled away from the man, the more curious he became.

Was the man an orphan? Did he not have families or friends? He looked behind but he had come a long way thus he couldn't see the homeless man. He felt his heart drop. He would have liked to speak to him, give an ear to what he had to say. Because if he could say something with certainty, it was this-everyone had a story to say; their life, their dreams, their fears- It might seem ordinary but it isn't. He knew this ever since he was little. Gilbert, Antonio, Dad, Mom, the other Dad, his siblings. All of them had a story to say; sometimes joyous, sometimes heart wrenching but always real and interesting.

"Never judge a book by its cover," his mom would say quoting someone else's words. But she was right and so was the one who said it originally. Most of the books he read had dull, uninteresting covers but the story within the pages was nothing short of magical. And that's how people are too. Sometimes the dullest of them would have the best stories to say.

He smiled as he walked down the road. There was an intersection coming up. He crossed it with ease. He could see the park just a few feet away, he grinned, he could finally read the book. He could have borrowed two books from the library but he knew he didn't have the time to read them. Not with Natalya showing him her extensive knife collection every week. She buys new ones frequently, additions to her little family she calls them. She lied. It wasn't little. But her sister had told him that Ivan had a bigger collection of lead pipes, ropes and chains in the basement. He had made it a point afterwards to never visit the basement. Ever.

Anyway returning back to the topic of library, he never got late to return books-which was why he had to finish reading this one- but he was quite notorious in the past for losing his library cards, now he kept them safely in his wallet.

He stopped walking. His wallet. Merde! It was in his jacket. The jacket he gave to the homeless man. His eyes widened as he swore out loud before running back.

When Francis said that dull people usually had the most interesting things to say he was right. And Arthur Kirkland was going to have plenty to say.

Arthur drove along the road at nearly 40 m/h. He had a rough day at work. A very rough day. The headmaster of the elementary school in which he worked had called him in to talk about the S bomb he dropped in class. After an hour of lecturing he had finally been sent back with a warning; cuss again and he is out of the school. It was a splendid warning which made him even more edgy than usual. Vash Zwingli who teaches Mathematics was kind enough to tell him that he must consult the Guinness book of world records because he certainly must have broken a world record for most profanity used in a minute. It wasn't funny to Arthur but who knows might be true. And if he had, Mr. Edelstein could stick Arthur's resignation letter up his own arse because Arthur would be famous. What was the Guinness record's contact number anyway because a world record is about to be broken, bitches.

It was an empty road so Arthur took his eyes off for just a few seconds while he hunted on his phone's internet for the contact number. Big mistake because when he looked up again he was five seconds away from pancaking a blonde to the road. He stomped his foot on the break and swore "Fuck!"

Francis turned and stared at the oncoming mini cooper before opening his mouth and muttering "Merde."

Four minutes later an ambulance raced to little Columbia Street after nurses at the Hetalia Hospital got an astonishing call.

"Bull Fucking Shit, what the Fuck is wrong with this hell hole? Bloody Wanker. Fucking Prat. Fuck Edelstein. Fuck Zwingly and Fuck Everybody Because I just Fucking ran my bloody Fucking Car over a Fucking Moron. "


	2. 15mh to 20mh is not deadly!

_**~~Chapter 2: 15m/h to 20m/h is not deadly!~~**_

Arthur Hated Hospitals. Ever since he was a little kid, he hated them. And with good reason.

They were big. Like so big you could fit all of Ludwig's no nos in here with Ivan's unmentionables and you will still have plenty of space.

Everything has to be white. From the walls to the coats and the fucking curtains. White. Like seriously don't the wankers know that there are others colours out there too? Like blue, green or fucking pink. If he gets hold of a paint can, he will paint the whole bloody hospital pink just like his roommate Felix did to their shared bathroom. It taught Arthur to never take too long in the shower ever again. And when Arthur paints this hell hole pink, it will teach them to never use white again ever.

And the smell. Oh god the smell. It's so horrible. He didn't want to linger about this any further.

Oh and he forgot his mom. She is a surgeon here. She was supposed to be splendid at what she did but well-

"Arthur, you good for nothing Dickwad. Why the hell did you run your fucking car over that man?"

All the people around them stared at the woman who entered the room. She was beautiful. She had blonde hair messily tied up in a bun, a beautiful face even with those gigantic eyebrows and a slim but quite muscled figure. But it was the eyes that drew everyone's attention; a pair of angry green eyes the colour of ivy on a stormy day- oh nearly forgot- and the scalpel she was carrying on her right hand.

"Arthur you better start explaining what happened moron!"

Arthur glared at his mother. She was a tough woman. She had brought up four boys-all the rough and tumble variety-so he knew just what she was capable of. It was no secret that in her marriage, she held the whip.

The other part of her marriage came into the waiting room with a smile.

"Arthur," his father said with a smile, "The man you ran over with your car is stitched up all right. Freda who is just magnificent at her job saved him. He could have died you know darling."

Arthur stared at his father, "Died? What are you talking about?" he stood up to his full height-an inch shorter than his father-and glared. His father quivered and moved behind. "I reduced my speed dad. When I saw the fucker in front of my car I slammed on the breaks. I must have hit him with about 15 to 20m/h. At the most the douchebag must have got a fracture. There is no fucking way he could have died!" Arthur screeched. His dad yelped and hid behind his wife who just muttered, "Idiots."

She gripped Arthur with her hands and stared at him. "Look young man, I want to know why you didn't see him when he first crossed the intersection."

Arthur swallowed. Freda Kirkland was known for her temper, one that would certainly flare up if she knew that her son didn't notice the man because he was too busy finding the contact number of Guinness world records. So Arthur didn't say a word. Better safe than sorry.

Freda was about to ask him again when a nurse came to her. "Dr. Kirkland, John Doe has been transferred to ward 3-c."

She nodded at the nurse before dragging Arthur along to the ward.

"Why are you taking me there?" Arthur asked loudly. He was met with a firm stare.

"You nearly killed him." Arthur rolled his eyes. There she goes again.

They walked past countless rooms until they reached a big door. Freda pushed it open and looked around the ward until she spotted him.

"There he is."

Arthur stopped walking when his mom pointed to a bed not much further away. He felt his mouth go dry. This was bad. Nasty even. To see the man you nearly ki- no he was driving at 20m/h when he hit- he pinched his own arm to stop that thought. It was wrong of him to think like that, coming up with excuses for his actions even in his own thoughts, that's not right (Though in public it's all right). He did this. Arthur Kirkland did this. All of this is his fault… and stupid Edelstein's.

He slowly walked over to the bed and looked at the man lying on it. He had blonde hair that fell across his face shielding the plasters on the fair skin. He looked quite pale. Arthur wondered whether the man was alive at all, a thought which was confirmed by the steady movement of his chest and the beeping of the machine next to him. Arthur sighed in relief. Not dead. That was great news. Now maybe the guy could wake up and forgive Arthur for nearly making his next home a grave.

"Arthur, do you know who he is?" his father asked gently. The blonde shook his head and just stared at the man. Arthur reached his hand out to stroke the man's head, a gesture which was stopped by his mom. "You might not want to do that. He bruised his head quite badly."

Arthur's mouth formed an 'Oh' before closing again.

"So when will he wake up?" Arthur asked as he studied the man's face.

"He should anytime now." Arthur nodded in understanding before bending down to get a closer look. The man had a good jaw line with a trace of stubble on it. And his lips were quite pale. Not unexpected as he just came out of OPD. Arthur traced his finger down the man's nose tentatively. He had a plaster neatly pasted on it. Arthur swallowed. It must have been a good looking nose, thin and long with just a bit of turn and now courtesy of Arthur and his Mini cooper, it's broken.

His Mom and Dad stared from behind. Why was their son groping the injured man's face?

Arthur, however carried on, he looked at the eyelashes. Long and nice, curling upwards, they moved revealing-Arthur was spell bounded by what he saw- beautiful blue eyes, the colour of the vast ocean underneath a sky with just a few clouds-just amazing.

"Excusez-moi? Why are you so close?"

Arthur stared and stared and stared. He's awake. And French.

"Shit."

Arthur straightened up and glared at the Frenchman. "You seem fine. Good. I am leaving." He turned and nearly walked away but stopped when the Frenchman asked, "Who are you Monsieur?"

Arthur turned and replied quite curtly because he was still embarrassed by what had happened a while before (it's not the car thing) and plus he was not one to apologise. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Okay Arthur." He said with an accent which ticked Arthur off. "Do you know why I am here?"

Freda smiled as she walked over to the man. "He hit you with his car but you are all right."

Arthur glared at his mom. She never lost an opportunity to humiliate her sons or hit them. 'Tough love', she called it. Her children had other more colourful words to describe it.

The Frenchman was stunned. Arthur hit him with his car? "But how?"

"Well quite simple really," Edgar Kirkland replied. "You were crossing the intersection like a careful civilized man and he hit you with his car. Anyway tell me young man, what is your name?"

The blue eyes knitted in frustration trying to remember. He then looked up at the three Kirklands and sealed Arthur's fate with his next words.

"I can't remember."


	3. Not dead but screwed anyway

_**~~Chapter 3: Not dead but screwed anyway~~**_

"_I don't remember."_

Arthur looked at the door ahead of him as the damned words echoed in his mind again. It turns out 15m/h cannot kill a person but it sure as hell can give them amnesia .

He sighed. This day wasn't going very well. If possible, it was sinking even lower with every fucking five minutes. The Frenchman would take him to court for the whole thing and knowing his mom, she would come in as a witness for the whole ordeal and without a doubt he would be sent to lament about his stupid life in a mucky prison cell. He probably deserves it.

He could see people coming out after seeing other doctors and found himself being curious. Why were they taking so long? Was it something serious? Did the Frenchman have severe brain damage? Was that why he couldn't remember a thing? How would it be to live a life without any past memories? Probably horrid. And Arthur had caused it all.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening. His mom's grim face met him. Followed by his dad's sorrowful face and the Frenchman who looked quite taken aback. This is it then. The police must be on their way too. Good. Arthur stood upright. He will surrender to the coppers like a dutiful citizen and when he is executed for his crime, he will not cry or beg for life because he knows that one should always pay for their misdeeds. He had practiced this so many times on others. When Alfred had stolen his beloved tea set for fun, Arthur had burnt Alfred's wallet for fun (Of course he didn't burn it with the money and all those cards. He has common sense you know). So yes, when he is under the guillotine, he will smile and sing 'God save the queen'. Patriotism is important even at death.

"Arthur we need to talk."

Arthur smiled at his parents. "Of course Mother and Father. You can say anything you want to me before the coppers come. They will be late- like usual-but it doesn't matter, they will come and I will go. However please do not tell me to stop; I am afraid I simply cannot do so. I have to pay for my crime." Arthur turned to face The Frenchman before continuing, "And I wish to seek forgiveness from you, I have wronged you to a degree beyond human comprehension-"

The Frenchman stared at Arthur (the latter was still talking like a 20th century mannequin) before turning to Freda, "Est-il fou?"

Freda's eyebrows were raised high. "Certainly."

Edgar was the first one to stop Arthur. "What gave you the idea that we called the police on you?"

"And I also wish my property to be given to- wait-what?" Arthur asked with disbelief. "You are not telling the coppers about me?"

Freda sighed. "Of course not, you stupid boy."

Arthur stared at her before insisting. "But I should go to prison."

"Non. That is not necessary. I can walk, I can talk and plus, you are also giving me a place to stay."

"Place to stay?" Arthur looked at the blond man. What was he going on about?

"Look Arthur, this man here has Post-traumatic Amnesia. The doctor said that he will have to take more tests and such to be certain of just how bad it is but one thing is certain; for a period of time he is not going to be able to remember much and it is our duty to care of him." she thought for a second before adding, "Correction-your duty. Take him to your place and give him a lot of rest. Okay?"

Arthur felt a lump in his throat and swallowed. Shit. This was bad. Maybe not very bad. But bad. He looked at the Frenchman who just smiled at him. His blue eyes seemed a bit hazy, like he was in a trance but well it doesn't matter. The man needed rest and Arthur will give him rest. But was it safe to take him out of the hospital?

Like as though she read his mind his mom said, "The doctor told us to take him home. He wasn't severely injured and if complications arise we can bring him back. And he has already been under observation here for a good five hours hasn't he?"

Arthur nodded and looked at the blue eyed blonde. He asked tentatively, "Does it hurt you anywhere?"

The man shook his head. No. Arthur figured they must have pumped a huge amount of pain killers into his blood stream. Hope it didn't have too many side effects.

"Here is the prescription, buy his medicines and then take him home," Freda came closer to Arthur and whispered into his ear, "And make sure you take care of him well, douchebag. He just got you out of counting jail bars."

"Okay, Hag."

"The love between Mother and son," Edgar said to The Frenchman with a smile, "Isn't it beautiful?"

The blond didn't know what to say. Arthur and Mrs. Kirkland didn't look very loving judging by Arthur's sneer and her glare.

Twenty minutes later, Arthur was walking out of the hospital with the blond following close behind. "I hate that bitch." Arthur said as he walked to the parking lot.

"Who your mother, Arthur?"

Arthur turned around and glared at the Frenchman. "Stop pronouncing my name like that!"

The Frenchman looked at him puzzled, "Like what, Arthur?"

"Like that."

"What?" he stopped and narrowed his eyebrows, "Aarrthurr, I am correct oui?"

Arthur positively glowered. "No you are not Wanker, you are stretching the 'Ar' and the 'r'. Don't butcher my name. My father named me after King Arthur of Camelot. His favourite book. So don't you dare mispronounce it you stupid frog. If you do it I'll shove your Bourne legacy up your arse."

"Come again," the blond said innocently. "My Bourne Legacy?"

"Yes. The stupid book you had in your hand when-look I am trying to be nice to you. So don't make me angry. I am not nice when I am angry." Arthur explained before turning around and walking to the mini cooper. It was still pristine and polished. No one would believe he hit a man with it.

The Frenchman walked over and looked at the car. "So this is the car?" the 'nearly ran me over with' hung in the air but Arthur could hear it clearly. Not that surprising as Arthur has an imagination just as colourful as his language. Very vibrant.

He stared at the car and felt something weird in his stomach. He didn't feel like driving. Not today and who knows probably never again. He looked at the Frenchman. "Let's catch a taxi."

It was a terrible idea. Absolutely awful. They hadn't been able to catch a taxi for god knows how long. And Arthur had started to lose it. And our beloved Frenchman, he really didn't know what to do. He has seen Arthur scream "Taxi" and when that failed, give loud shrill whistles to the upcoming cabs which still refused to stop and then he had done a weird ritual. He had pulled out a book and a cloak from thin air (An amazing magic trick he would like to learn it if Arthur would be willing to teach him) and then had promptly started saying something that sounded creepy like as though he was summoning a devil. The young blond had been frightened to such extent that when a car pulled up next to them and a kind old woman offered them a ride. He was certain she was a devil and had refused to climb into the car. Arthur after trying to coax him in twice had screamed "Fuck this shit!" before forcefully pushing him inside.

Another terrible idea as the blond had squeezed himself to the corner and had prayed so loudly through the entire journey that Arthur's ears were ringing and the nice old woman was no longer nice. She had dropped Arthur off at his apartment (Well the correct word would be kicked them out of the car) and had driven away in a hurry swearing that she would never ever give a ride to people, especially if they were standing outside a hospital in the middle of the night looking forlorn and reading a bible.

Arthur kept his 'Book of Curses' inside his coat carefully before walking into the apartment building. The other followed albeit hesitantly. The building wasn't luxurious but it wasn't very old either. There were plants lining up the wall, a couple of paintings and an elevator, the latter was a blessing as the Frenchman's legs had started to hurt. And when they were inside he was quite surprised when he saw the mirror. His face had about three plasters neatly pasted on his skin. One on his forehead, another his nose and the last one was on his jaw. His lips were pale but were relatively unharmed. His arm was in a sling. He knew that of course. He touched the top of his head and gently pressed. No pain. Weird. It should hurt right, after all they said that he must have had a concussion not severe but one never the less, however it didn't hurt one bit.

Arthur looked at the man and couldn't help wondering what was going through his head. It must be something along the lines of how well Arthur ruined his face. Arthur bit his lip. He really messed up.

When the elevator doors opened, Arthur walked out and held the door open so that the other man could walk out. An action noticed by the Frenchman who smiled at him gratefully. Arthur didn't respond but just unlocked the apartment door with his spare key.

"Look, I share this room with my friend Felix. If you know what's good for you, you will not under any circumstance insult him. If you do I will make you regret your entire life. Are we clear?"

The Frenchman nodded. He quite didn't understand the threat though. It wasn't like he could remember his life to regret it.

Arthur opened the door for the man and once he went inside, followed him in. He didn't notice the man freeze after a few steps nor did he hear the sounds. So when he switched the lights on, there were three high pitched screams.

Arthur turned around and stared at the Frenchman. He walked forwards to see what the matter was. After all he was pretty certain he heard two other screams excluding the cowardly Frenchman. Once his eyes fell on the other two occupants of the room, he took his words back.

There on the couch lay Felix and his boyfriend Toris. A sheet was draped around them. But it was too clear what had happened. Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath before screaming, "Felix!"

"Look Arthur, if I had known you were coming home, Toris and I would have done that in the room. I thought you must be staying over at your mom's place. After all the cool me has never done something like this before." Felix pushed his hair back and exchanged a glance with Toris before continuing, "Of course I was wrong. I didn't know you had gone out on a date."

Arthur shot a sharp glare at Felix. "He is not my date!"

"Oh," Felix said before smirking at him and eyeing the Frenchman up and down, "A one night stand then."

Arthur blushed from the roots of his hair to the very tip of his nose. The Frenchman just looked puzzled. "What's a one night stand?"

Toris coughed, Arthur saw red. "Look Felix. Take Toris and go to your _room_."

Felix grinned, "Okies. Come Toris, Let's continue in my bedroom."

"Silently." Arthur reminded before grimacing. Felix was so Felix.

The Frenchman looked around confused. Yes he had seen something he sincerely wished he could unsee but with all due respect why was Arthur so tensed. He offered a smile at the Brit which just resulted in him scowling and then sighing before saying, "You can have my bedroom, it's important for you to rest."

The blond followed Arthur to the room which was adequately furnished with a timber bed, a dressing table, a closet and- he stopped himself. Shelves filled with books lined up the left wall. So many books.

Arthur smiled softly when he spotted the Frenchman looking at his little library. "Do you like it?"

The Frenchman turned and smiled with amazement, "It's wonderful."

Arthur found himself staring at the man as for the first time in this crappy day, a real smile lit up that well defined face. His eyes were even twinkling. Adorable.

He looked away when he realized what he had thought. That was just wrong.

"The toilet is behind the door over there. It is a shared bathroom, so knock before you enter if not you might have a repeat of today. And if you want anything else just ask me."

He turned to leave but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder, "but what about you Arthur?'

Arthur could feel the care and worry in his voice. That man was very unusual. Who was so damn nice to the person who knocked them down with a car?

He decided to not turn around as he didn't want another crazy thought to enter his mind. "I'll sleep outside. Just call me if you need anything."

Arthur was about to walk out but then he stopped and fiddled with his coat before pulling a thick book. "The Bourne legacy. You had it with you before." the blond looked at the book confused so Arthur decided to explain, "It's about a man who has amnesia. Oddly appropriate isn't it? Anyway good night."

The Frenchman looked at the Brit as he walked out.

"Good night, Arthur."

As he lay on the bed at night, the Frenchman decided that Arthur was a good man, a great person who had taken him in without complaining. He was like an adorable rabbit; fluffy and all on the outside but brave and courageous inside. He could have just left him on the street and escaped but he didn't. He stayed. And that is all that matters. Yes if Arthur hadn't crashed onto him, he would have all his memories and he would be healthy and all (He would even know his name) but then he might have never met Arthur. And that just feels sad. He was glad he had met Arthur. Very glad indeed. The blonde smiled as he felt his eyes close. That night he slept peacefully for the first time in ages.

Arthur tried to get comfortable while sleeping on a thin mattress in the balcony. He would never sleep on the couch; he might not even sit on it. He tried to sleep but he couldn't. His thoughts came back to the Frenchman in his bedroom. What was his name? Did he have a family? Were they worried about his whereabouts? Was he married? Did he have any children? If so had Arthur just separated a father from his wife and children? A son from his parents? Needless to say, Arthur didn't sleep well that night.

So when he heard a very loud "Where am I?" in the morning Arthur woke up startled before running over to his bedroom. And sure as hell, sitting on the bed was the Frenchman and he looked freaked out.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked gently. Maybe he was feeling a little disoriented or maybe he was feeling pain. The pain killers they gave in the hospital must have worn off by now, duh. He looked at the Frenchman calmly before saying, "Look I will get you your medicines, you will feel better after taking them."

The Frenchman's eyebrows narrowed as he looked at Arthur puzzled.

"Who in the world are you?"

**A/N- Francis is being a little too nice to Arthur because well he isn't himself but that isn't going to last long.**


	4. Francis Bonnefoy?

_**~~Chapter 4: Francis Bonnefoy? ~~**_

Arthur froze in his tracks. What did the Frenchman say?

"Come again."

"Etes-vous pour de vrai? Fine. Who are you?" the Frenchman's voice was laced with irritation. Who won't be when they wake up and find themselves in an unfamiliar place with a man they had never met talking about medicines. The man did look relatively harmless but looks can be deceiving, a lesson he learnt from an unfortunate encounter with Tony.

It took a good couple of seconds for Arthur to get his voice back, his throat had suddenly gone very dry, so when he spoke his voice was rough, "Arthur Kirkland. Look Frog what are you playing at? You know me. We spent most of the night together."

Realization dawned on the other blond. Of course. He was such a fool. Shooting a smile at Arthur who was still glued to the floor near the door, he said with just the right amount of coyness, "I get it now. You don't have to worry, chérie"

He pushed the duvet off of him and tried to stand up. Suddenly pain shot through his leg and his knees gave away before he knew it the Frenchman was tumbling down. Arthur watched in alarm as he ran to hold the Frenchman. A second too late though.

The blond howled in pain as his knee collided with the floor.

"Oh shit. Come on I will help you up." Arthur held onto the Frenchman and gently helped him back onto the bed. "The doctor told you to get rest, so why did you do that you fool?" he chastised.

The Frenchman pushed Arthur back before frowning at him. "I am not a fool and what doctor are you talking about?"

Arthur sighed as he tried to not yell at the man, "Did you lose your memory again? The Neuro physician you met yesterday. The one who told you had Post-traumatic Amnesia."

The Frenchman looked at Arthur with disbelief. "Amnesia, I don't have Amnesia. I am perfectly fine."

Arthur stared at the man, "No you are not, frog. You did not even remember your name yesterday."

"My name. I forgot my name?" the man said seriously doubting Arthur's sanity, "My name is Francis. Francis Bonnefoy".

Arthur blinked. No way. He remembered his name. But then why did he forget everything that happened yesterday? Arthur couldn't understand a thing. He held the bridge of his nose and tried to calm down. Okay, first he better give Francis his medicines and then they better visit the hospital again.

"Look, sit here for a while and I will bring you your medicines."

"What? No I am not taking any medicines, I am fine."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course that is why you fell didn't you? Just shut up and drink your medicines wanker."

Francis glared daggers at Arthur before saying very loudly, "Vous êtes fou!"

Arthur just ignored the man so that he could keep his temper and sanity in check. He counted the pills and poured water into a glass before handing them to Francis. The latter turned his face away, his nose pointing to the air. Arthur was tempted-very, very tempted- to break that silly nose off. He was done with this shit.

"Drink your medicines!" Arthur commanded, only to be ignored.

"Drink it!"

"Why should I? They are not mine" Francis wasn't going to have any of those pills. Arthur was clearly insane and he wasn't going to trust him. He would be a fool to do so.

Arthur on the other hand was contemplating shoving the French bastard off the balcony. He could always stage it as an accident. Easy as pie.

"Look," he tried again. "You need to go to the hospital because I am not going to put up with your crap anymore so drink your fucking medicines." This should work, it should. It always did.

"Non."

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "That's the last straw bastard."

He pushed Francis down and held his nose. The blond yelped and opened his mouth, just in time for Arthur to shove the pills into his mouth and pour water down his throat. Francis nearly choked and when Arthur took the glass away, Francis started coughing. His shirt collar was soaked and the pillows were clearly wet however the pills were safely inside Francis. Arthur grinned in triumph and the grin didn't falter even when Francis called him a murderer. Francis swore in French only for Arthur to ignore him and dial Vash's number. If it had taken so long to get the Frenchman to take his pills and shoving the pills inside was Arthur's only option. Then one thing was certain, he would need a gun to get him inside a vehicle.

He wasn't wrong. After Vash agreed to pick them up, he had tried to get Francis to agree to go to the hospital. Not only had Francis objected he had promised to even call the coppers on him. Very considerate. Arthur had tried to threaten the man but it had been futile. In the end they had a spectacular shouting match which resulted in Felix walking in wearing a dress and telling them to shut up as he needed his beauty sleep. He had then winked at Francis before leaving the room. Shockingly, Francis hadn't made a single peep since then. He had however pestered Arthur to tell him more about his roommate. Arthur couldn't quite believe it. Francis had been so nice and caring yesterday but today he was just a prat, an annoying, obnoxious and perverted prat.

Ten minutes later Vash had turned up to take them to the hospital and Francis had thrown a fit again.

"No way in hell am I going to the hospital. If anything you should be the one going there not me" Francis yelled at the top of his voice. "You are plain barking mad!"

"Barking mad? I kept your sorry arse in my apartment, I even gave you my bed. You are right, I am mad for trea-."

"My sorry cul?" Francis interrupted before laughing. Both Vash and Arthur looked at him startled and were quite freaked out by the weird laugh. After ten second of rigorous Ohonhonhon, Francis finally stopped laughing and scowled. "I hate you!"

Arthur snarled, "Well don't you ever be mistaken and assume I love you. Because I hate you too"

Vash glared at the two of them before pulling out a glock and firing at the wall behind the two bickering men.

"The next one will be through your head if you don't get into my SUV now and Arthur I will shoot you too. So go."

Arthur had expected this so he wasn't scared much. Francis on the other hand was quivering and had started praying loudly. Arthur sighed. Not again.

"Look Frog just come with me and get into his SUV and we will be fine. Got it?"

Francis nodded as he walked to the elevator. As the elevator went down, Francis decided to man up and say something to Vash. "You know if you want to shoot someone, you can kill him."

Vash frowned at the man who shrunk away to the corner of the elevator. Needless to say throughout the journey to the hospital Francis was very quiet.

When they arrived at the hospital, the two men got out of the vehicle and saw Vash drive off. Francis sighed in relief before following Arthur into the hospital. He didn't like the uptight Brit one bit but one thing was quite clear, he had contacts and Francis didn't want to meet anyone of them.

When their number was called out Francis was nervous. He had a bad feeling in his chest. An absolutely horrid one. His conscience was telling him to turn and run away but his legs didn't turn, they just continued heading straight, through the door and into a tidy, disinfectant smelling office. "Good morning, Mr. Kirkland and how are you doing?"

"I am doing well, Dr. Adnan. It's about Francis."

The doctor smiled at Francis. "He remembered then?"

Arthur nodded. " But" and he stopped. He didn't quite know how to say it.

"But?" the doctor prompted only to be met with a reply from Francis. "Look this man here is crazy. I think we must have had a one night stand because I woke up in his house and didn't remember how I got there but he insists that I had amnesia and he is looking after me. Which is just crazy. Because let's face it," he added as he pointed to Arthur, "he isn't capable of taking care of someone, I mean he pushed pills down my throat and in addition to that I am fine. I don't need to be looked after by a stranger."

Arthur slapped Francis. Right across his cheek. "Shut up." he turned to face the doctor, "You can see what happened."

The doctor nodded before saying, "I can, however I would appreciate it if you didn't become physical with my patients, Arthur."

He then turned to face Francis. "Francis if you don't mind me asking, can you tell me about yourself?"

The blond shot a glare at Arthur before saying, "I am Francis Bonnefoy. I have lived here in Hetalia for all my life. I live in Berlin Street in an apartment me and my friends rented out and I am not in relationship."

Arthur let out a deep breath. Thank goodness. He hadn't ruined a family.

The doctor nodded and asked, "Tell me about your family?"

"My mère is a French national, her name is Estelle. She moved back to France a year ago with her new husband. My père's name is Maximus Vargas and he lives with his husband Adalbert Beilschmidt in Italy. They went back a few months ago. I have a younger demi-frère, Mathieu from my mom and my other stepdad. What can you say, a large family." He smiled lovingly at the thought of his family. Everyone was so different but they stuck together. That's why he loved them.

Arthur smiled. That is great. He remembers everything. Which means he doesn't have amnesia so Arthur is free. Yes!

The doctor grinned. "You seem to be all well Mr. Bonnefoy but do you remember anything that happened yesterday?"

Francis shook his head. "I must have been drunk Doctor. I can't remember a thing. And only if I was drunk would I find him attractive enough to spend a night with."

Arthur nearly flipped him off. Nearly.

Dr. Adnan smiled at him sympathetically, "You got into an accident when Mr. Kirkland's car hit you at an intersection. You didn't get injured much, you had a wound on your leg, a few bruises and you fractured your arm. It also turned out that you had a concussion. We kept you under observation for five hours before deciding to send you to Mr. Kirkland's place. You didn't remember a single detail from your past Mr. Bonnefoy. You didn't even know who you were. We suspected it to be Post-traumatic amnesia. It had to be. Due to the accident you couldn't recall your past or even crucial details about yourself. And we were right. But the thing is when you have post traumatic amnesia, it is also common to have Anterograde amnesia."

Arthur looked at the doctor curiously as he continued, "You can't form new memories for a temporary time which is why you can't remember anything that happened after the accident. There is nothing to worry. This is a common occurrence. The most important thing is you are alright. You will never remember what happened yesterday but you will remember the past and anything from today onwards too."

Francis quite couldn't believe it. So the cranky, rambunctious Englishman was right all along. He felt a bit guilty for everything that happened in the morning. But then the Englishman had been the one to hit him with his car. So there was no need to ever say sorry. But maybe just maybe he could lodge a complaint against him with the police .

"So Mr. Bonnefoy. I am glad you are feeling better now. So about your injuries, does it hurt anywhere?"

"His leg in the morning." Arthur said immediately. Francis looked on in surprise. Even now after all of this why was Arthur so concerned?

"It hurt him and he fell." Arthur explained to the doctor not realizing that Francis was looking at him.

"Oh. Did he take him medicines before the incident?"

Arthur shook his head. "I got him to have it afterwards."

"Just in case I will get you an anti-bacterial cream. Mr. Bonnefoy you better put it on the wound every night before you go to bed."

Francis turned and stared at the doctor before nodding even though he hadn't listened to what he said.

The doctor wrote the prescription and handed it to Francis. The Frenchman stared at the paper-to be more specific, a part of the paper- before looking at the doctor.

"You got the date wrong." He said simply.

The doctor looked surprised, "I did?"

Francis nodded but before he could give the prescription back, Arthur peeked over to look and was confused.

Neatly written on the top left corner of the page was '24th February 2014'.

Dr. Sadiq Adnan nodded in understanding before asking, "I will change it then, what's the correct date Mr. Bonnefoy?"

Francis smiled at the doctor. He really liked the doctor. He was a nice guy. Not his type though. He replied "I think uhm…22rd February," he thought for a few seconds-he didn't notice the doctor looking at him attentively nor did he see Arthur visibly relax- before saying, "2012".

Arthur's eyes bulged as his heart jumped to his throat. Not again.

**A/N- So if anyone didn't understand what happened with Francis's memory then I will tell you. He has post-traumatic amnesia which occurs after one goes through head trauma. They usually won't remember details about themselves or the past for a temporary time. and though they will be able to move along and live the day, the thing is usually they won't remember what happened on the day of the accident and immediately afterwards ever again. This is because of Anterograde Amnesia- amnesia in which you can't form new memories, i.e. the memories are too weak to be recalled back.**

**Post traumatic amnesia can be of a mixed type too; partly anterograde and partly retrograde. Retrograde amnesia is what we are most familiar with- you forget memories preceding the accident. Childhood years and all will be remembered because with time they become stronger however more recent memories like 6 months before the accident or 2 years before the accident will be forgotten. Because they are not very strong. They can be recalled with time and using things like photographs and such but they will take time and sometimes they just won't remember them.**

**I hope you understood what's happening. And guys, thanks for the immense response this story has gotten. I will publish chapter 5 soon. Thank you.**


	5. Truth Hurts

_**~~Chapter 5- Truth Hurts.~~**_

Dr. Adnan smiled sympathetically at Francis. "Mr. Bonnefoy, how sure are you?"

Francis eyed the doctor suspiciously, what sort of a question is that? He was certain. Of course he was. He remembered throwing a massive party to celebrate Antonio and Lovino's first anniversary. It had gone pretty well, booze and beautiful girls, everything you need for a party was there. And the duo (Antonio had disappeared with his Italian potty mouth about an hour into the party) had danced away their night. Well they might have except their father and step-dad took right that moment to pay a surprise visit. And what a surprise it was. Gilbert and Francis had been in the middle of a belly dancing routine with some cute girls. And his parents had apparently got the best view. For the first time in his life Francis had seen Adalbert faint. It would have been hilarious if in the very next day Adalbert hadn't grounded them. He was such a killjoy. That was one of the last memories he had so that meant it happened yesterday-no-the day before yesterday. He shouldn't forget the accident. "I am absolutely certain."

Dr. Adnan nodded before looking straight at Francis as he said, "Today is the 24th of February 2014." Seeing Francis ready to argue, he took his iphone out and showed him the date.

Francis glared at the doctor. He was such a liar. He must have set the phone up. How dare he try to fool Francis? What did the doctor think of him as? A fool? No way in hell was he going to listen to this crap. How could it be 24th February 2014? Was it like what two years fast forward or something?

Francis stood up to leave. "You're wrong. How can it even be 2014? That's just ridiculous." Francis's blue eyes glistened with anger. "I might have lost my memory yesterday but that doesn't make me a fool. So don't treat me like one. How can you even lie like that?"

"Mr. Bonnefoy, you might have Retrograde Amnesia. You forget some of the past but there is nothing to-"

"What the hell? First you say I have some Post-something Amnesia and now you say I have some retro amnesia? I might have believed you the first time but certainly not now."

"Francis." Arthur spoke as he stood up only to be pushed back down by the angry Frenchman. "And you. You started all of this. This is all because of you. I was actually regretting treating you like that in the morning but you know what you deserve every bit of it!" He pushed his index finger onto Arthur's forehead before continuing, "And sign up for Driver's Ed again before you screw someone else's life up too."

Arthur stared at Francis as the Frenchman glared at him and then turned away and left. Francis wasn't wrong. He had fucked up.

"Doctor. Ho-how bad is it?" Arthur's voice was low and shook with guilt.

Dr. Adnan frowned. "If February 2012 is all he can remember. Then it's probably two years of memory loss which is pretty bad. But Mr. Kirkland I am still not certain as to whether he has retrograde amnesia or not. Sometimes maybe he is just disoriented and he doesn't remember the date but the memories are still intact. So it would be very helpful if you could find out whether he remembers his past or not. It's up to you."

Arthur twiddled his fingers as he muttered, "But he hates me."

The doctor looked at him, a bit puzzled. "I am sorry I couldn't hear you."

Arthur looked up and faked a smile. "I will try."

Francis was standing by the gate trying to get hold of a taxi but so far those who had stopped downright refused to let him on when they heard he had no money but will pay them back when he arrives at the destination. Francis tried to not feel gutted. After everything that had happened today you would think someone would be willing enough to give him a ride. Guess not.

An arm held his shoulder making Francis freeze.

"Having a great time hailing a taxi I see."

Francis rolled his eyes. The British arsehole.

"I don't need your help, niaiseur."

Arthur nearly smiled. "That sounds weird."

Francis flipped him off.

"Look Frog. I can catch you a taxi. How about that?"

Francis smiled icily, "I don't need your help. I can get a taxi all by myself."

"Okay then." Arthur leaned against the wall. This could be entertaining.

It was. Francis had tried to stop another four taxis which failed. Probably because now he was flailing his arms and he looked like he had escaped from a asylum. And those taxi drivers who were brave enough to stop drove away when Francis once again said he had no money.

Francis yelled to the sky, "Oh Dieu. Vous avez déjà me mettre en enfer aujourd'hui? Pourquoi ne pouvez-vous au moins me laisser héler un taxi?" (Google translate-Oh God. Have put me in hell today? Why can't you at least let me hail a taxi?)

"Well maybe because he wants me to catch you one."

Francis looked back and glared at the Brit before suddenly smirking. "Très bien. Then go ahead. You take a shot."

Arthur walked forwards as Francis leaned against the wall. Francis was expecting Arthur to go forward and swear his heart off or summon a demon. He stopped. Summon a demon…that's just nonsense. After all how could that happen?

Arthur walked over to the pavement and seeing a taxi gave it a shrill whistle. The taxi pulled to a halt.

"Sir, do you wish to go somewhere?"

Francis rolled his eyes. That was unfair. How could he get one so easily?

Arthur smiled as he opened the door. "Do you want to come?"

Francis wanted to say no but then chances were if he refused he will have to be here outside a hospital for a good deal of hours, sweating profusely as he dehydrated and starved, which didn't sound very appealing. His skin might have to pay the price for his pride. And that is absolutely dreadful.

He stood up as he got into the taxi. "I don't owe you anything."

Arthur smiled. "For the first time since we met frog, I have to say I agree with you."

The car ride had been silent. Arthur didn't know what to say and Francis was too ticked off to say anything. However he did as they turned onto little Madrid Street.

"Look I don't have amnesia. I remember my past. I have not forgotten it. I remembered the address where I live, see? I have not forgotten anything."

Arthur didn't look at Francis. He couldn't.

"Speak something." Francis commanded.

Arthur could see an old lady walking her dog down the street. A few kids playing hop scotch on the pavement. They were all normal. How nice would it be to just to be normal? When the most horrid thing Arthur could do was fuck up a scone and burn his kitchen down. And now after what Arthur had done, Francis had to pay the price. And boy was it enormous.

"I am sorry."

Francis stared at the Brit before turning away. When someone asks for forgiveness you should forgive. That was one of his mantras. He had always followed that but he didn't want to forgive Arthur. At least not for now.

The car pulled to a halt in front of an apartment building in little Berlin street. Francis smiled fondly. Up there in the fourth floor is home where there is neither a crazy Englishman, gun wielding friend of the crazy Englishman nor a sorry excuse for a doctor. He opened the door and stepped out of the taxi. He glanced at Arthur but then quickly turned away.

"Bye, Eyebrows."

Arthur nodded stiffly even though he didn't want Francis to leave. There was a feeling deep down inside of him that told him to not leave Francis. But so far his presence hadn't been very beneficial , if possible it had been the exact opposite.

"Take care, Frog."

The Frenchman nodded as he walked across the street and entered the apartment. Arthur looked on even after the Frenchman had disappeared from view only to be reminded that he has to leave when the taxi driver inquired him whether he wishes to go somewhere.

"Yes. Little London street please."

The taxi moved forwards even though Arthur's eyes were looking wistfully at the building at number 43.

Francis climbed up the stairs, groaning all the way. He had forgotten that there is only a staircase here, now his leg was hurting and he was almost ready to give up. But there were only a few steps more and then it will be home.

He forced himself to walk up the remaining stairs and finally when he reached the door, he smiled thankfully. He made it. He was here. He was home.

He knocked the door and waited for a response. After a few seconds he grew impatient. Where in the world were his best friends? He sighed as he waited for a few more seconds before he knocked on the door again.

"Gilbert! Tony! Open the door!"

He knocked again. Why were they taking so long? His leg was throbbing and even his arm had started to hurt.

"Open the door!" he screamed impatiently.

And then the door opened.

And Francis was staring at the barrel of a gun.

Francis froze in place. Shit. When did Gilbert buy a gun?

His eyes moved upwards and once his eyes met the sharp green eyes, he nearly stopped breathing.

"You." He muttered.

Vash glared at Francis. "How do you know my address?"

"Our Address, Vash." A new voice corrected as a man walked in.

Francis stared at the man's clothes in disbelief. How old were those clothes, probably a century old.

He looked at Francis before smacking his head with rolled up sheets. Music sheets.

"Who are you? And why were you screaming and knocking on our door like a drunk?"

Francis stared at the man while holding his head (That hurt a little). Their door? How could it be their door? It was Francis's apartment.

"You must be wrong, Monsieur. This is my apartment." Francis explained only to be smacked again.

"I have been paying rent here for the last year and a half. This is not your apartment." The man yelled. His temper flaring.

"Non. This is my apartment."

Vash looked at Francis before saying something to his roommate-whose eyebrows rose- and going in.

"Look how about we greet each other first." The brute said eloquently, "My name is Roderich Edelstein."

Francis eyed the man with hostility before saying, "Francis. Francis Bonnefoy."

"And my name is Elizaveta."

The two men turned to their right and there stood a woman holding a frying pan. She smiled at Roderich and glared at Francis.

"You... what are you doing here?" she asked.

Francis shuffled backwards. His luck had been going downhill and now it must be digging itself a tunnel.

"Elizaveta," Francis smiled, "How are you?"

"I am doing much better after I had you and those morons thrown out of the apartment next door."

Francis stared at her. What was she saying?

"You didn't throw us out, we still live here."

She glared at him. "No you don't. When you held that monstrosity of a party there two years ago, I filed a complaint against you lot. You were kicked out of here a week later. What are you doing back here again any way? Did you miss my frying pan?"

Francis shook his head. "Non. Certainement pas."

It was then that something occurred to him. "Two years ago?"

She nodded as she waved her frying pan. "What did you lose your memory?"

But Francis wasn't listening to her. He didn't remember that. None of it. Being kicked out of his own apartment is a big thing and he couldn't remember it. He trembled. Was it true then? He shook his head. No, it can't be. It must be just a memory lapse. That's it. Nothing serious.

He shot a smile at her. "Uhm Elizaveta. When did we move? Do you know the date?"

She smiled at him. "How would I forget? It was the happiest day of my life." Her body simply glowed with happiness as she said, "2nd of March 2012."

2nd of March 2012? That was still a few days away, right? It didn't make sense. And if that day had already passed then- Francis couldn't wrap his head around the whole thing, it was too confusing.

"Elizaveta, what's the date today?" Francis asked already regretting the question because he had a feeling that the answer was going to be the worst he had received so far. Because it was going to confirm something which he didn't want to accept, something which will break apart everything he knew.

"Don't you know the date? Fine it's the 24th of February 2014."

Francis gulped. He looked around the corridor at both Elizaveta and Roderich, the yellow walls, the doorway to his apart- previous apartment. The walls were painted a light blue before. Well it was before someone sprayed graffiti all over it during that party. And there were none of the ornamental trees which someone had lined the wall with when they stayed here. Gibert had once puked into one that was by Elizaveta's doorway. It was done by mistake. He looked around. He was wrong, this wasn't home. This hadn't been for a long time. He felt his chest tighten and his breathing became hoarse.

"Are you all right?" Roderich asked, concern clouding his face.

"Francis?" Elizaveta asked, worried for the man who she didn't like but well there were others she hated more (See Gilbert).

Francis moved towards the stair case and stepped down. Pain shot through his leg. He bit his lip but still continued to walk down the stairs.

"I am fine," he said softly. But he wasn't speaking to them.

"Come on, could you drive faster you bloody wanker!"

The taxi driver was frightened out of his wits. Ever since the man had gotten a call, he had made him turn the car back to go to little Berlin street while swearing at him all the way.

Arthur tried to not scream in frustration. Vash had sounded worried when he called. He had all the reason to. He bit his nail as he looked out of the window. And then he saw him.

Francis was sitting on the pavement with his head buried onto his lap.

Even before the car came to a stop, Arthur jumped out and ran across the street. He tripped on a loose stone and fell down but holding onto the ground he stood up again. Francis. He ran towards the Frenchman.

"Francis!" He yelled trying to catch the Frenchman's attention.

Francis raised his head and turned. He could see Arthur running towards him. Arthur… the only person who knew and in a twisted way cared. He couldn't find the others; his friends, his parents, his sibling, absolutely no one.

Arthur came close but didn't stop instead he wrapped his arms around Francis and held him. The Frenchman was surprised. He hadn't expected that. No he hadn't but- he laid his head on Arthur's shoulder- he realized he needed it.

He didn't have his memories.

He couldn't remember anything that had happened in the past two years. He tried so he knew.

But he had Arthur and the damned Englishman knew him, knew what happened and who knows might help him put his life back together. He wasn't a friend, no one who hits you with a car can be a friend but he was something and that was much better than what he was left with if the man wasn't there…

Nothing.

**A/N- Quite a serious chapter isn't it? But don't worry humour will be around the corner. And by the way, thank you for all the reviews. They always make me smile.**


	6. Missing

_**~~Chapter 6- Missing~~**_

A couple of kilometers away from Berlin Street lies Paris Street. It's a beautiful street with designer fashion stores lining up both sides of the road. Givenchy, Nina Ricci and Van heusen are found side by side. And on the pavement you would find impeccably dressed people from all walks of life making their way to their destinations carrying bags that screamed 'Expensive'. Usually this street is rather spotless. Walls of buildings are painted well, no paint peels to be found and certainly no posters would be seen pasted on them, but today that was not to be seen.

Dozens of posters were pasted on the walls and pillars, even the traffic lights had a poster pasted on them. And as this was so out of routine in the perfect street, it caught the attention of many pedestrians and drivers. One such pedestrian looked at the poster with narrowed eyebrows. A man looked back at him from the poster. His eyes, a twinkling blue and hair that fell down his shoulders in blonde waves; he was definitely a handsome man, someone who would surely be noticed wherever he went so how come there were in bold black letters the word 'MISSING' printed right above his head. He quite couldn't believe his eyes. A man going missing at this day and age was unheard of. And a man who looked like that… impossible.

A hand held his shoulders. The spectator looked behind to see the grave face of another man. His red eyes looked at him with worry and just a bit of hope.

"How can I help you?"

"My name is Gilbert. You were looking at the poster intently, have you seen him before?"

The man shook his head. "I am afraid not. Are you searching for him?"

Gilbert nodded. He saw the man smile at him sympathetically. "Well I hope you will find him."

The man turned and walked away leaving Gilbert looking forlorn and lost. The German reached his hand out and touched the poster. He and Antonio had put the posters up a few minutes ago. With fair reason to do so; Francis hadn't returned that night. He had gone out but hadn't come back. The two friends had been under the impression that he must have gone to Natalya's place but then when in the morning Natalya had called up asking them to tell Francis to drop in as she had something to show him. They realized very quickly that they didn't know where their friend was. They had tried to contact him but that had failed as Francis had left his phone in the apartment. And after contacting some of their friends, the two had come to the conclusion that either Francis had run away or he was in grave danger.

Gilbert sighed. Why did Francis leave? And where had he gone to? Was he safe or was he in danger?

He turned and walked away. Too many questions and absolutely no answers. He looked at the sky that was grey and seemed to be heavy with rain.

A distant memory of a blond laughing in delight as rain fell on him crossed Gilbert's mind.

Rain… Francis loved rain. Gilbert walked down the road, his chest feeling heavy. The question he had been asking for a long time emerging yet again. Where was Francis?

_Gilbert's birthday party- 20__th__ February 2012_

_Got kicked out of his apartment-2__nd__ March 2012 (Can't remember)_

_Design rejected- 11__th__ January 2012_

_Dad called to tell him that he had something important to say, he wanted to say it in person though- 5__th__ January 2012_

"You know this writing down my memories thing seems to be quite unhelpful, eyebrows. I can't remember anything after that party."

Francis sat by the dining table, tapping his pen on the table.

"You do know that you won't start gaining your memories back just because you started writing them down."

Francis sighed as he continued writing on the paper.

"And plus Frog, if you write them down you will know what you remember."

_Arthur hit him with a car-23__nd__ of February 2014_

_Vash nearly shot him- 24__th__ of February 2014_

_Arthur hugged him- 24__th__ of February 2014_

_Roderich, Vash and Elizaveta saw them hug- 24__th__ of February 2014._

_Got a lecture on PDA from Roderich- 24__th__ of February 2014_

"You know Arthur, Roderich sure has a stick up his cul." Francis commented as he stopped writing.

"No. He has a whole forest growing out of there. I am pretty sure that the UN had declared it as a conservation site."

Francis smiled as he left the pen on the floor. He then scrunched his nose. What was that god-awful smell?

He stood up and limped his way to the kitchen just in time to see smoke rise from a pot on the stove.

"Arthur," Francis screamed as he quickly moved forwards and switched the stove off, "how come you didn't notice that whatever was there in the pot was burning?"

Arthur turned and looked at Francis incredulously. "It wasn't burning."

Francis practically glowered. "It was. I saw it."

Arthur looked at the pot which was still emitting smoke and then at Francis. "Well Frog I believe smoke actually adds depth to the flavor of stew."

Francis blinked. He wasn't being serious…or was he?

"Look Arthur. How about I cook and maybe you could sit still on the couch. That way you won't be harming anyone."

"My cooking is not that bad enough to harm someone!"

"You think smoke adds flavor to a stew." Francis pointed out.

"It does add flavor to a stew."

Francis glared daggers at the Brit who was glaring back at him. He finally let up and said sweetly, "Look Mon Cherie, let me cook for you. It's the least I can do after all you are giving me a place to stay. Let me take some of the workload off your back."

Arthur looked at the Frenchman and gave in, "Well when you put it that way, I cannot say no. Go ahead and cook whatever you want but if you break any of my things you will have to buy them back."

Francis grinned as he saw Arthur remove his apron and walk out of the kitchen. Phew that was a close one. In addition to everything he had on his plate. Food poisoning didn't seem very appetizing right now. He looked at the pot and tried to carry it with one hand. After nearly dropping the pan Francis realized that cooking wasn't going to be that easy with his hand in a cast and if he took too long, one thing was certain. Arthur will end up making dinner and only god could save his soul after that.

After fifteen minutes of trying to cook Francis had figured out what his capabilities were right now-

_He couldn't carry heavy objects_

_He couldn't chop vegetables. He was right handed and his left hand (The one that works) cuts them in weird shapes. The carrots he had chopped looked like something that a three year old had cut. All in different sizes and overall, looked unappetizing. _

_He couldn't stir or add ingredients at the same time._

_Arthur's stew was unsalvageable and Francis can't make another._

_Crepes can't be made with a left hand when you're right-handed. They end up looking like oversized donuts flattened by Arthur._

Francis tried to not scream in frustration when his third attempt at making perfectly round crepes failed again. He is a gourmet chef. He can make culinary wonders with just three ingredients but here today, he can't even make a crepe.

"You look like you need help."

Francis turned and looked at Arthur. This was a nightmare. Arthur who for the love of god burns stew seems to have better luck with cooking than Francis does. Whenever he thinks this day couldn't get any worse, it does. It's like fate is telling him, "Look at what I can do to you Francis Bonnefoy. Kesesesesesese."

Arthur came in and bit his lip. "How about I chop up the vegetables and be an assistant to you. Maybe I can learn something."

Francis slowly smiled. "I don't know about that. You seem far too gone to ever learn."

Arthur hit his shoulder, not too hard but enough for Francis to yelp.

"That hurt."

Arthur just shrugged before removing his waist coat and pulling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Well for one you can throw that into the trashcan." He said pointing at the pot that was still resting on the stove.

Arthur swallowed thickly before walking over to the pot of stew. His stew. The food he cooked. He had to throw it out. He tilted the pot over the rubbish bin and saw the charred remnants of his stew disappear into the depths of the bin. He turned around and looked at Francis pointedly.

"You better know what you're doing."

Francis smiled. "Of course I do Mon imbécile agresseur."

Arthur flipped him off, Francis laughed before turning to the stove.

"Well how about we cook Chicken Cordon Bleu? Arthur could you get me 3 chicken breasts, 3 slices of ham, 3 slices of Swiss cheese, 1 ½ tablespoons of flour, ½ teaspoon of paprika-"

"How about a cup of slow down?" Arthur interrupted as he took out some chicken breasts.

"Touche." Francis took the chicken breasts and holding a knife as well as possible, he tried to cut an inch slit horizontally. The knife slipped and cut in too deep making Francis frown. He tried to continue cutting but found himself cutting diagonally.

"Shall I do it for you?" Arthur asked helpfully only to be shot down.

"I can do it. I don't need help for every single little thing." Francis said, his voice laced with irritation. The knife slid in too deep and Francis was left with two halves of the chicken breast in his hand. Great. Just great.

He kept the pieces aside and took another chicken breast. Maybe if he slowed down a bit and was more careful he could cut it properly. He had to do this. If he can't then… no he can, he _should_. He slowly tried to cut it but once again the knife slipped. A hand wrapped around his own and held the knife.

Francis looked at the pale fingers surprised and then looked at their owner. He swallowed thickly as green eyes looked at him anxiously.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked gently.

Francis wanted to shake his head and say no. He wasn't all right, he wasn't going to be. He can't do anything not even things he had been doing since childhood. He needed help for everything and he hated himself for it. And he-

Arthur held Francis's hand tightly. The knife in the latter's grasp stayed firm. He loosened the grip and the knife fell. Arthur looked at the knife before reaching out and taking it. He inspected the knife before looking straight at Francis and saying,

"Francis, you can have my hand."

The blond stared at Arthur. What? He looked at the knife and at Arthur's hand. His eyes bulged as Arthur raised his hand.

"Wait! Are you out of your mind? Oh Mon Dieu! Do you always do crazy stuff like this? Or are these days an exception? You don't have to cut your hand. Yes my hand is not working very well but you don't have to replace it with yours. Even if you are feeling guilty you still don't have to do it. You know what Arthur, I will forgive you. All right? Just don't chop away your limbs."

Arthur stared at Francis. What was wrong with the frog?

"Why would I amputate my hand?"

Francis blinked. "Well you said I could have your hand. What was I supposed to think?"

Arthur's lips quirked and then opened as he laughed. He bent down and laughed out loud.

Francis glared at the Brit. "What is so funny?"

Arthur looked up and steadied his laughter before grinning at Francis. "Why would I ever do that? You're barmy."

Francis's glare intensified.

"Anyway," Arthur smiled, "What I meant was you could guide my hand along with yours and you can cut the chicken."

Francis's mouth opened in a quiet 'O'. So that is what he meant. He then shook his head.

"I don't know about that Eyebrows." He said uncertainly.

"Come on. At least try." Arthur said as he reached his closed fist out.

Francis breathed in deeply before reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Arthur's hand. It's not like he has another option and well it wouldn't hurt to try.

Arthur smiled and moved towards the chopping board. He grinned as Francis guided his hand towards the piece of meat.

"Let's dissect a chicken." Arthur said with a laugh.

Francis turned and looked at Arthur's face. "Cut a chicken, Mon lapin."

"Well it means the same thing."

Francis grinned. Well it sure does… at least in Arthur's mind.

Francis slowly cut the chicken and found himself cutting it in a neat straight line. He smiled. He could do it. He is not that useless. Arthur smiled as Francis deepened the cut to an inch and looked at Arthur with joy.

"I did it." Seeing Arthur smile back at him, he added, "We did it." His eyes softened but still had that twinkle.

That silly twinkle. The one that made Arthur go all 'aww' when he sees it. It was so adorable and accompanied by that smile, Francis looked absolutely hand-

"Arthur?"

Arthur stared at Francis as the blonde's voice shook him out of his reverie. He quickly turned away.

"There is only one more left, right?" he asked quickly.

"Two." Francis corrected before drawing the chicken. Arthur tried not to look at Francis. The frog probably had an enchantment or something placed upon him. That's why Arthur had swooned twice. But there is no fear. He could easily find a spell for his protection. It was quite simple really. Now where did he leave the book of Spells. Not with the book of curses of course.

Francis tried to not focus on Arthur. The man seemed to be thinking about something which Francis could feel in his guts, wasn't going to be any good. And a bit scary too. He felt a shiver run down his spine but he continued cutting the chicken.

Ten minutes later, there were chicken breasts cooking away on a pan, a salad being prepared by Francis (Arthur had chopped the vegetables) and dishes being loaded onto the dishwasher by Arthur. Once they had completed their chores, the two men sat down for dinner.

Francis grinned at Arthur as the Brit looked at the plate laden with a golden chicken breast.

The Frenchman poured a little sauce on the chicken and looked at Arthur with eyes that held so much excitement, the Brit slowly cut a piece of chicken and looked at it.

"What are you waiting for? Go on, take a bite!" Francis urged.

"All right." Arthur said a bit loudly before bringing the chicken to his mouth and biting in.

Arthur froze. The chicken oozed oodles of flavor and as he chewed he could taste the sauce which was absolutely divine. It had a smooth flavor of cheese and herbs and was that white vine he tasted? Yes it was. Arthur hummed in delight. This is delicious.

Francis looked at Arthur, whose eyes were closed. His face didn't give away much making Francis so nervous that if he could chew his nails, he would.

"So Arthur, How is it?"

Arthur swallowed the chicken and opened his eyes. He looked at Francis before breaking out in a smile. "It tastes divine."

Francis fist pumped the air with his left hand making Arthur smile even wider.

However when Francis was going to tuck in, his smile faded. The Frenchman struggled with the chicken. After all he had to use the same hand to cut the chicken and eat it. Arthur contemplated helping him out but stopped himself. Francis seemed to have plenty of self-esteem and he had already lost quite a bit of it today. Helping him further could do more harm than good.

Francis managed to keep the food on the fork and bit in. He smiled with pleasure before looking at Arthur.

"You know Mon Lapin, you have to agree with me that this tastes much better than whatever you planned on serving."

Arthur flipped him off before saying, "Stew. It's called Stew, frog." But he had to agree this did taste much better than the stew. Not like he was going to say that though.

Later that night, Arthur carried his sleeping bag over to the hall and opened it up. Fluffing up a pillow he placed it down on the bag.

"Are you going to sleep here?"

Arthur stood up and looked at Francis with a quirked eyebrow. "Yes, unless you want to share a bed?"

He saw Francis visibly flinch. "It's okay Arthur, you can sleep here all you want." He turned to go but stopped himself. "Why don't you sleep on the floor in your bedroom? Or the couch."

His eyes narrowed as he saw Arthur's face redden.

"No, it's all right. I will sleep here."

Francis looked around the living room that seemed to have been taken out of the Victorian times and turned to go back to the bedroom. "Suit yourself."

He opened the door to the bedroom and walked in. Noticing the book shelf, he walked towards it and looked at the books. Some looked new and some looked really old. He traced his finger down the spine of a book that seemed to have seen better times and pulled it out. _'A tale of Two cities'._

Francis smiled softly. Paris and London. Just like himself and Arthur. And that was about where the similarities ended. He laughed quietly before putting the book back. Though he liked the book, he didn't want to read it right now. Maybe later.

His eyes moved from one book to another. Sometimes stopping on familiar titles but continuing on nevertheless. However his gaze caught onto a book; an old hardback with pages that had yellowed over time. He pulled the book out gently as a smile grew on his face. _'Les Miserables'. _

He turned the pages softly and then closed the book before taking it to bed with him. It was the only book that he had read over and over again so many times in his past. He had bought the book when he was twelve and wherever he travelled the book went along too. He was certain that the book must be at home. _Home… the place he didn't have a clue about._

What were his friends doing now? His parents? Mattieu? Did they know he was missing? Were they searching for him?

He opened his eyes. Of course they would be searching for him. They love him, right? He opened the book and softly turned a page.

They will find him. He is certain of it. And he would search for them too. He will try to go home. But until then this book was the closest to home he could get.


	7. An unknowingly missed opportunity

_**~~Chapter 7- An unknowingly missed opportunity~~**_

He didn't know what woke him up. Was it the light that was falling on his face, the pain that was slowly making its way through every limb that had been fated to kiss a car or the feeling that he wasn't at home. Whatever it was, it had him opening his eyes and groaning aloud.

He looked around and saw that nothing had changed since last night. Arthur's bedroom was as normal as it was but… it wasn't his. He spotted a glass of water lying on the side table. Reaching out to take it he noticed that the book he had been reading last night was lying next to the glass and was that a book mark inside the pages? On closer inspection, he figured that yes it was a bookmark. To be more specific, a Doctor who bookmark. He smiled softly. Arthur must have come into the room some time back. He could imagine Arthur taking the book and keeping it aside and tucking him into bed. It was odd especially because he hadn't been tucked into bed for ages but somehow it felt oddly fitting.

He shook his head and drank a bit of water.

He didn't notice the man standing near the doorway and looking into the room. Arthur's green eyes scanned Francis. The Frenchman seemed to be all right. He must probably be in pain though. But that would wear off soon after he takes his medication. He knocked the door lightly and wasn't that surprised to see Francis turn and look at him with eyes open wide. Once he recognized who it was standing by the door his eyes softened and he smiled.

"Oh it's you. Come on in Mon Petit."

Arthur nodded stiffly before walking in and handing Francis a tray.

"I got you some cereal because I had a feeling you wouldn't appreciate my muffins."

Francis smiled. "Well your feeling was certainly right. After all if you could burn a stew then what would you do to a muffin?"

"Just shut up and eat, frog." Arthur said feeling embarrassed because well he could do many things to a muffin but it still doesn't make it any more edible. Quite the opposite really.

Francis tried to get up. "I don't know about your morning habits but I place a lot of importance on my dental hygiene." He slipped and fell, well nearly as Arthur held onto him and said with worry.

"Are you all right?"

"Never been better." Francis said quietly.

With Arthur's help he managed to walk over to the bathroom and brush his teeth and wash his face. He figured he could use the toilet after he has his pills because if he has to ask Arthur's help to get to the toilet and get off of it then he might as well steal Vash's gun and shoot himself.

A few minutes later he was eating up Shreddies while looking at Arthur. The Brit was highly entertaining. He was counting all of Francis's pills for the meal and putting it into a small box. His face was all scrunched up in concentration. Like a scientist trying to get his measurements right. When he seemed to have finished, he paused and started counting them again.

"You know Arthur, you look like you have OCD."

"Quiet."

"I finished eating."

"Quiet."

"Can I have my meds?"

"Qui-" Arthur stopped and looked at Francis before pushing the box towards him. "Here you go."

Francis drank his meds and stayed put for a few minutes and once he felt his pain reduce, he figured he could go to the toilet.

A harmless decision right?

Well there was a warning Arthur gave Francis two nights ago. A simple warning. One that Francis should have remembered but forgot for obvious reasons.

So when he opened the bathroom door and sat himself on the toilet he was stunned to hear sounds coming from behind the shower curtain. He slowly got up and went towards the curtain.

He swallowed thickly and carried a toothbrush for self protection before quickly drawing the curtain aside.

Arthur had just arranged the bed and was puffing up pillows when he heard the high pitched screams. He froze for a few seconds before panic set in. Did something happen to Francis?

He rushed over to the bathroom and tried to open the door only to realize that Francis had locked the door. Stupid Frog.

"Francis, are you all right?" he screamed but there was no response. Trying to open the door and failing. He figured that he could enter the bathroom from Felix's room. Rushing over to his roommate's bedroom he stopped when he saw the pink…well everything. He shook his head and set his eyes on the mission in hand. There is no time to waste. He walked over to the bathroom and pushed the door open and boy was he surprised when he saw what he saw.

Francis was crouching on the floor, caught up in prayers and onto his left in the tub were two aghast but blushing men who were…naked.

"Felix." Arthur said with a voice sharp enough to cut a diamond. "What have I told you about bathroom sex?"

Felix smiled in an effort to lower the tension. "Well…uhm…don't do it."

Arthur rolled his eyes and helped Francis up. The Frenchman looked at him before standing up.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur asked kindly.

Francis just stared at him before opening the door and leaving. Well he must be traumatized. Arthur turned and glared at Felix.

"I really hope there won't be a next time Felix." His voice had dropped a couple of octaves and made Felix swallow in fear before shaking his head and waving his hand.

"Of course not."

Arthur rolled his eyes and walked out. Yeah right.

He shut the door and turned to see Francis staring at the bed. Arthur silently walked over and held Francis's shoulder. "How about we go for a walk?"

Ten minutes later the two men were going for a walk, neither speaking a word. One was feeling awkward and the other just a bit traumatized.

They passed a few shops and then Arthur halted while looking up at a store. 'Glam N' Chic' the sign read out. It was then that he realized two things.

_Francis didn't have extra clothes. He was wearing the same outfit his mom had bought in a rush while at the hospital._

_And he had been going to the bathroom when…that happened. So he must have not done his…well you know._

Arthur pulled Francis along as he walked into the store. The Frenchman looked at Arthur quizzically but didn't say anything in protest.

After stopping a Store assistant and whispering something in her ear, Arthur pulled Francis a couple of aisles along and stopped in front of a door.

He turned and grinned.

"There you go, the bathroom."

Francis blinked before looking at Arthur with bewilderment. "Pardon?"

Arthur pointed at the bathroom and said with glee, "Well you wanted to go, right? When we were back at home?"

Francis stared at Arthur with disbelief. What was the man getti- Oh.

He smiled gratefully as he realized what Arthur was saying. "I-uh- Merci." He walked inside leaving Arthur standing outside the door alone. Which the Brit didn't really give a damn about. Francis needed clothes and he was going to buy him some.

He searched the aisles for the perfect shirts. He smiled as he picked a light blue cotton shirt. He looked at the brand, 'Hugo Boss.' He softly swore under his breath and kept the shirt back. He wasn't going to pay more than £50 on a fucking shirt. Ever.

He kept the shirt back and wondered down the aisles. His fingers ran over all the shirts trying to find a good one. His eyes shined as he pulled a plain white shirt out. £10. And when he read a card that was hanging around the shirt a grin lit up his face. This was brilliant. If he bought five shirts of the same brand he could get them all at £35. Cheap. He grinned as he pulled four more shirts and walked over to another aisle. Now only if he could find a few trousers and sweater vest for that same price.

And yes he did it. There was an offer on a few pairs of trousers. They were also from a brand which he had never heard of before but well it doesn't matter. Who knows, maybe the manufacturers of these clothes are poor but talented designers hoping for a big break. If that is so then Arthur Kirkland had just kick started their career in Fashion. Isn't that just great?

Feeling very generous he took two beige sweater vests.

"Bonjour!"

Arthur turned and smiled at Francis. "Hello!"

Francis walked over and looked at all the clothes Arthur was carrying. He took one of the white shirts and held it. After scanning it intently for a few seconds. He gave the shirt back.

"You know Mon Ami that shirt is slightly damaged. And the cotton is of inferior quality."

Arthur's eyes widened. How dare that boisterous Frenchman ridicule those hard working designers who aim to succeed in fashion? How dare he?

"And how do you know?"

Francis moved a step back when he saw the Brit look at him angrily. "Well, I did my major in fashion and worked as an assistant under James Armand from Louis Vuitton. He even promised to let me design my own line."

Arthur just stared. "You worked for Louis Vuitton?"

The Frenchman nodded feeling giddy. He then smiled at Arthur. "Hey do you know something?"

Arthur looked at him and then at the clothes he was carrying and said hmm.

"Imagine me with my own Fashion Line. I can see it. The Bonnefoy Fashion line. How amazing would that be?"

"Conceited much?" Arthur quipped half-heartedly.

Francis looked at Arthur and felt just a bit bad. He must have unknowingly hurt the man's feelings.

"Look Arthur, You can still wear those clothes if you want to."

Arthur turned and stared at Francis, "These are not for me. They are for you."

Francis laughed. "Nice joke, Arthur. I would never wear something so old-fashioned."

Arthur looked at the man and then glared at him. Dropping all the clothes in a pile. He clenched his fist and punched Francis. "Go to hell, you bloody wanker!"

Francis doubled over and held his abdomen. Merde. That hurt. He looked up at Arthur who was positively glowering.

"I was hunting around the aisles to get you some fucking clothes and that's how you treat me. You ridicule my sense of fashion."

Francis stood up. "C'est quoi ce bordel ? your sense of fashion? If you want to dress like you're from the 80's, go ahead but don't make me wear it. I mean a sweater vest in this climate? Tu es completement débile!"

Arthur pulled his sleeves back and walked forwards looking very, very angry. "Take that back, wanker."

Francis shook his head. "Non."

The sales assistant's eyes bulged when Arthur threw a punch. She was just about to rush to Francis's aid when she saw the blond punch back and then it began. The two men grappled on the floor, punching each other and kicking one another and… did Arthur just bite Francis?

"Mon Dieu! Did you just bite me?" Francis screamed.

Yes. Yes he-

"Hell yes, Fucking Twit." Arthur laughed.

-did.

Francis looked at Arthur with disbelief. The rest of the store looked on in fear and a bit of awe because Arthur was laughing like a crazy Serial killer but… he was sitting on top of Francis's abdomen, legs draped around the latter. And boy did they look hot.

Uhm.

Anyway , Francis shoved Arthur aside before standing up. That mad Brit. He better look out because he was going to get-

Merde.

The Frenchman nearly doubled over in pain. His hand which should have been safely kept in a sling was now free of the material and hurting. He breathed deeply before turning around and glaring at Arthur. This was entirely the imbecile's fault. Why did he have to pull Francis into a fight?

Arthur who was now chuckling looked up only to see Francis looking at him with a whole lot of anger. He stood up whilst straightening his suit and grinned.

"What happened now?"

Francis was two seconds away from giving the Brit a piece of his mind when a hand held his shoulder. He looked behind only to see a man with brown hair and olive skin glare at him with light brown eyes. Oh and he had a long gravity defying curl poking out of his bangs.

"Franceypants, you bloody moron! Why the hell are you fighting in a store you bastard!"

Francis looked on in shock but then looked up and opened his mouth to retort back when Arthur jumped in the middle.

"That is exactly what I think of him. The bloody wanker. So I am Arthur Kirkland." Arthur smiled graciously before handing out his hand in a sign of friendship only to be met with a-

"Do I look like I give a fuck? You creepy pervert. Anyway get the hell away from me." He turned to leave before stopping and looking at Francis.

"Just so we are clear. I am going to tell this to dad."

He walked out of the store leaving a confused Francis and a very much heartbroken Arthur. That hurt.

Francis looked at Arthur's quivering lips and dejected expression before sighing and holding his shoulder.

"It's okay. You will get over it, Mon ami." He said quite gently before leading Arthur out of the store only for Arthur to stop and walk right back in. The Frenchman rolled his eyes and sat on a nearby bench. What had gotten into that man this time?

He turned and looked at the people walking past him, searching for any familiar faces; Gilbert, Tony or at least Ludwig. But as his eyes travelled from one face to another, his hope slowly faded. He didn't know anyone of these people. He closed his eyes and thought about what happened over the last few days. He really couldn't remember much. He didn't remember the crash or anything that happened afterwards. The only thing he could recall was waking up in an unfamiliar room and seeing an unfamiliar face look at him with worried green eyes. And then everything that happened afterwards, he could remember that pretty well too. But why can't he remember anything that happened before the crash? Not even one single thing? Well everything before Gilbert's party doesn't count. He remembers most of that pretty well but what happened afterwards?

How did he feel when he got evicted from his apartment?

Did they go house hunting immediately after being kicked out or did they drink themselves to death and crash on Ludwig's living room for the night or did they end up homeless?

Did he get that fashion line he was promised?

If he did then how did it even look?

Francis tried to recall answers to all these questions but…none came. Not even a single memory or at least a fragment of his memory-a small incy wincy one-surfaced back to him.

"Are you catching a nap?"

Francis slowly opened his eyes and found himself smiling as he saw Arthur. "No. I was enjoying one of the few moments of peace I have when you are not around."

"Go to hell."

Francis stood up and turned to walk back to the apartment. He paused and looked behind when he realized that Arthur wasn't next to him. He found the man standing next to the bench.

"Are you not coming?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I want to eat in a restaurant. Will you accompany me?"

Francis grinned causing his eyes to twinkle. "Of course. After all," he smirked at Arthur, "I can't let you wander the streets of Hetalia unsupervised. Do you know just how dangerous you are to the commu-"

"Oh, Shut up."

After that the two men had lunch at a small but cozy restaurant nearby and then went to the cinema afterwards. They spent a good five minutes quarrelling about which movie to watch, and in the end they chose the Hobbit part two. A good movie but Francis found himself nodding off in the middle of it. It wasn't boring. Oh no, far from it actually. But he was feeling tired and his eyelids just couldn't stay open anymore.

His head lulled to the left and his head fell on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur who was chuckling at Legolas unknowingly insult Gloin's family quickly turned to see what or who had hit his shoulder. His eyes which flashed quite dangerously at the sudden intrusion softened as he saw Francis's face. His eyes lay closed as he slept peacefully. Arthur smiled at the man and wiped a crease off his eye brow before balancing Francis's head on his shoulder and laying a hand softly on the blond silky tresses.

When the movie came to an end, Arthur gently woke Francis up and the two men headed home. Walking into the apartment, they found Felix preparing a soup of some sort. He offered them some but Francis refused, only to have Arthur forcibly make him sit down and glare him into drinking the soup. The Frenchman who was too tired to put up a fight just drank it all up and took the medicines afterwards and headed to bed. Arthur watched him go but as he turned to finish drinking his own soup, he quite couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something. He just hoped it wasn't anything important. He prayed it wasn't anything important.

It was later that night when he was going through the bag of clothes he had bought that he remembered. And as realization dawned, Arthur felt his chest become heavy. What had he done? Oh god. Shit. How did he miss it?

He collapsed onto the couch and stared at the clothes. How did he miss it? How could he have?

He held his forehead and closed his eyes. That man in the shop, the one with that outrageous curl. He recognized him. He recognized Francis.

He might have been Francis's friend. Someone who the Frenchman had forgotten because of the amnesia thing. Maybe that's why Francis couldn't recognize him but it doesn't matter. It was clear. Plain as day, that he knew Francis. Where he lived, where his family was, where his friends were. He might have known all of that.

And Arthur…

… just let him go.

Oh God.

* * *

**A/N- Okay so sorry for the long delay and i am sorry if the chapter wasn't that good. i really tried. I promise. but do stay tuned. the other chapters would be better and watch out for the next one because you will get to know more about Arthur. **

**And all the followers and Favourite(rs?) thank you. Now only if the reviews could increase... anyway I hope i didn't disappoint you with the chapter. And i am sorry if i did. **

**Love you all and thanks for reading.**


	8. It's all right

**A/N- Oh God… I just read chapter 8 of Axis psychiatric hospital and…now I am traumatized. Oh God. Oh God. Anyway I need fluff or at least something nice to get all my nerves to settle. Shingeki-No-Hetalia, that was some amazing writing but I am traumatized. **

**So without further delay, here is chapter 8.**

* * *

**~~Chapter 8- It's all right.~~**

When Francis woke up the next day, there were two things that immediately seemed out of place. First, there was a bowl of cereal on the side table and some pills next to it and second, Arthur was nowhere to be seen. He pushed his hair aside and waited silently for the Brit to come in but after a few minutes had passed, with patience running dry, Francis sighed and stood up, limping his way to the washroom. After knocking four times and asking whether anyone was there at least thrice, he opened the door and walked in. Maybe something had come up, that's probably why Arthur is late.

Nearly ten minutes later when Francis came out, Arthur was still nowhere to be seen. Francis ran a hand through his hair in frustration before calling out for the man. But he was met with no response. A second call was also left ignored. Deciding against walking out of the bedroom and choking the man (He didn't have the energy and plus his limbs hurt), he sat on the bed and quietly had his breakfast and then his medicines.

"Arthur!" he screamed only to be met with silence again. This was becoming ridiculous.

"Arthur, are you even at home?" he yelled. He sighed when he heard nothing. What had happened to that uptight, annoying con? Did he eat his own exquisite culinary marvel for breakfast? Is that why he is not responding?

Is he dead?

Francis stood up and ignoring the pain in his leg walked out of the room and into the kitchen. The kitchen was rather spotless. No dirty dishes and well to be truthful, it didn't look like anyone had even bothered to make breakfast. He spotted a cereal box and a carton of milk.

Francis shook his head. Would it hurt the blond to at the least put milk into the fridge? What was he planning on having for breakfast tomorrow? Cereal in sour milk?

Francis stopped and thought about it. This was the man who burnt stew. The man who considers dissecting a chicken is the same as cutting a chicken breast. So who was he kidding? Of course Arthur the walking wonder would be capable of having cereal with sour milk. He would probably find it absolutely divine.

The sound of the dishwasher being opened alerted Francis to someone's presence. He quickly turned around brandishing the milk as a weapon. His eyes widened as he stared at the man with disbelief. To say he was surprised is an understatement.

"What are you doing?"

Green eyes looked down at the floor as he shut the dishwasher's door. Arthur straightened up and said curtly.

"Nothing much. Just putting away a dirty dish."

Francis nodded. "hmm." he kept the milk on the counter top before folding his hand. His eyebrows narrowed viciously making Arthur squirm on the inside.

"So you have been inside the apartment all this while I suppose."

Arthur quickly answered, "No. I had some work so I had to go out."

Francis nodded again as he brought a finger to his chin. "So you were out?"

Arthur nodded and took a step back.

Francis grinned at him. "Well why didn't you say so?" he came over and held Arthur's shoulder.

"Here I was thinking you were ignoring me," his eyes gleamed, "But you were out all this while."

Arthur laughed albeit uncomfortably. "Yes. I had very important work."

Francis smiled. "Well what was the _very _important work Mon ami?"

Arthur's eyes widened as he grinned, "Well…uhm" his eyes trailed around the room before falling on a pile of letters on the table.

"Well…Bill. The electricity bill. I had to pay the bloody thing you know. It was an absolutely fucking piece of work. I have to tell you."

"Hmm." Francis murmured before saying with excitement, "Well how much did you have to pay?"

He smirked as Arthur stared at him whilst inwardly panicking. "Well…Urgh…£1200. No it was umm…£2000 something."

He gulped as Francis's smile turned into a frown and he glared. "Arrête de dire des conneries!"

Francis walked over and towered over Arthur as he accused, "You are lying. I didn't hear the door open nor close. And even if you were out before, considering that you were sneaking a dish into the dishwasher I guess you must have been here for at least the past ten minutes. Which means you sure as hell heard me call you," he stared at Arthur with a bit of hurt and a whole lot of anger. "Why did you not respond? We didn't fight yesterday. At least not to an extent where you would hate me so why?"

Arthur tried to not look at Francis. He couldn't. He didn't want to. Seeing the accusatory glance would hurt even though he deserves it.

"Arthur can you please tell me why you ignored me and tell me the truth. S'il te plait?"

Arthur glanced up and then looked down again. Francis looked hurt. And seeing him like that made Arthur feel horrid.

"Arthur."

The blond moved off and walked to the sink. He looked out of the window at the passing traffic and sighed.

"I messed up."

Francis looked at him puzzled. "Again?"

Arthur's eyebrow narrowed but he confessed. "Yesterday that guy with the weird curl in that shop recognized you."

Francis looked confused until the words sunk in and then his mouth formed an 'O'. He scratched his head before shuffling over and holding Arthur's shoulder.

"Mon Cher," he smiled softly. "Leave it."

Arthur turned around and frowned. "But Francis," he argued, "how can I leave it? I messed up. I let him go."

Francis held both of his shoulders and shook his head. "Non. You didn't. If anything I have to be the one to blame. He addressed me but I didn't recognize him. It is I who don't remember so I should have realized it. I should have spoken to him and found out more about myself. But I didn't do it. So the fault is not yours. It is mine."

"But-" Arthur argued only to have Francis cover his mouth.

"Stop it. Don't blame yourself for every single thing. You know sometimes you are absolutely…" he stopped to think about it. And then smiled. "Fou. Vous êtes fou."

Arthur looked at him in surprise. His eyes softened and then crinkled around the corner.

Francis looked at him questioningly and then yelped as he pulled his hand away.

"Eww."

Arthur grinned at the Frenchman who washed his hand with a grimace.

"Don't you dare lick my hand ever again."

Arthur smirked. "Make me." He then stopped and thought about what he just said. "On second thoughts. Don't make me."

Francis chuckled only to have Arthur chuck a dishcloth at him.

"Don't laugh Frog."

After that wonderful moment of… well something, Arthur helped Francis to the bed before applying the antiseptic cream onto the wound.

Francis hissed in pain only to have Arthur shake his head and call him a baby.

"You know Mon lapin."

Arthur glared at him. "Do I look like a rabbit to you?"

Francis pondered for a minute before suggesting, "Well you are more of a hérisson"

Arthur looked at him with a raised eyebrow as creases formed on his forehead and between his caterpillar brows. His nose wrinkled only to straighten up when Francis held it with his index finger and thumb.

"I said Hedgehog."

Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously as he pushed Francis's hand away and stood up. "How dare you call me that?"

Francis shrugged before propping his head up using his left hand. "Think about it. You are prickly and a downright pain in the arse on the outside but all soft and cuddly on the inside. You are a perfect hedgehog."

"Fuck you."

Francis smirked. "Avec plaisir. I mean, with pleasure."

Arthur reddened before punching Francis squarely on the jaw. "Go to hell, Wanker!"

"Oww. That hurt." Francis moaned as he held his face. He didn't notice Arthur stomp out of the room. "Mon Hérisson chéri, you are an asshole."

He looked up and searched the room. Where did he go again?

He didn't have to wait for long this time. A few seconds later Arthur came back holding a bag of clothes. He held them out to Francis.

"It's not much but you need clothes so…"

Francis took the bag and smiled. "Bien merci. But please tell me they are not the atrocious things you selected yesterday," he said teasingly only to get a finger from the other.

Francis chuckled and pulled a few shirts from the bag. His eyes widened as he checked the label. He looked up and asked quietly. "Louis Vuitton? You didn't have to-"

"Look, You said you worked there and well you would probably be more comfortable wearing this and..." Arthur gazed at the shirt silently.

"And?" Francis asked gently only to hear a soft sigh.

"You don't know where you live. You don't even know where your family is." Arthur swallowed thickly before sitting next to Francis and taking a shirt. He ran his hand on the soft material. "Maybe you could feel a little bit more home by wearing something made where you work. You know."

Francis felt his chest become heavy as his eyes prickled. "Yeah I know."

He then turned to face Arthur. He smiled softly as he saw Arthur look at his hands in silence.

"Thank you."

Arthur stood up and looked at Francis, "It's all right." He turned to walk out of the door and then added, "Should I help you change?"

Francis shook his head, "I can manage by myself but if you want to undress me you are most welcome." He smirked as he waggled an eyebrow.

Arthur turned and grinned. His eyes however were twitching in anger. "Am I also welcome to sock you?"

Francis put his hand up in surrender. "You can leave. The door is that way." He added pointing to the wooden door.

Arthur bit his lip in an effort to suppress laughter and walked off.

Twenty minutes later, Francis had somehow managed to take a shower and with a bit of struggle had worn the new trouser and shirt. However when he tried to button up his shirt, his good mood slowly drained. Mon dieu. This is difficult. Francis's lips pressed together as he tried to put the button through the hole but doing it with one hand, he found out, is all but impossible.

"Merde." He swore softly as the button failed to go through the hole again. He glanced at the clock and blinked in surprise. What the hell? Nearly ten minutes spent…buttoning his shirt? Correction-failing to button his shirt.

He ran a hand through his hair. Oh well unless he wants to spend another ten minutes attempting to do this then there is only one other option left.

"Arthur?"

The Brit who was chopping away vegetables quietly mumbled "What?"

"I need your help."

Arthur rolled his eyes, inwardly smiling. He had been expecting it. Ever since the big shot had said he can manage it all by himself, he had been expecting it. After all dressing up with just one hand? It's probably possible but Francis doesn't seem like a very patient frog so of course he would turn up and ask for help.

He smirked as he turned. "Well now you-"

His voice failed him as his throat dried up and his eyes widened. Oh god. Francis stood in front of him, his shirt unbuttoned. Arthur studied the fair skinned chest with wonderful silky looking luscious skin which was dotted with a bit of hair in the centre. His eyes trailed downwards and he swallowed. The green orbs fell on toned abs that looked like they had been sculpted from smooth marble with a trail of light blonde hair in between them making its way down…and down until they disappeared underneath his trouser band. Damn. That was hot and gorgeous.

He wanted to touch it.

"Arthur."

"Shut up. Can't you see I am busy?" Arthur scolded lightly as he continued to ogle Francis's torso.

Francis on the other hand shook his head in disbelief before snapping his finger. Arthur broke away from his trance and looked up, stunned to see Francis's face up close. "Mon Chéri. I know I am absolutely jaw dropping gorgeous but seriously now is not the time. Maybe later you can study my hotness and even do some more," he winked as Arthur blushed like a ripe cherry, "but right now I need your help in doing my buttons."

Arthur stood up and said quickly, "I wasn't checking you out. I was just seeing how ugly you really are."

Francis's smile fell. "Ugly? Who me? Non. I am sexy and nothing less than that."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You wish."

He quickly slid the buttons into the buttonholes, not letting his thoughts get the better of him. Right now a voice in his head was cheering him on to sneak his hand and…no not necessary. That voice was absolutely crazy. Francis is ugly; absolutely horrid looking like a frog. An ugly (Hot) Frog. No. Not hot but ugly. Ugly damn it!

Francis tried to not quiver in fear. The blond in front of him looked absolutely menacing. Like as though he was inwardly scolding Francis. Maybe next time he could ask Felix to help button his shirt up. At least that guy seemed to be nicer. Or maybe even that other guy. Felix's boyfriend. He looked cute. Maybe they could be in a Ménage à trois and help each button and unbutton each other's shirts. Last time when he saw them in the bathroom he was scared. After all he wasn't expecting it but now thinking back on it that was a wonderful opportunity he had missed.

As the two men were lost in their own thoughts neither of them heard the door click open nor notice the group of people who sneaked their way into the house. Noticing movement in the kitchen, they made their way there only to pause as their green eyes fell on the two men.

The sole woman in the group slowly covered her mouth with her hand as the rest of the men stared with mouths and eyes open wide. A cigarette perched on the tallest one's mouth was dangerously close to falling.

Arthur realizing that he had buttoned up a button to the wrong hole undid the button. Hearing something fall, he quickly turned to his right and froze. His eyes grew large and somehow managed to grow even larger when Francis said.

"Why did you stop? Don't keep me waiting here all day."

Arthur wanted to alert Francis. He had to but his voice for the second time in a day failed him.

Therefore Francis opened his eyes in a jolt as his heart nearly skipped a beat when he heard,

"Are you two trying to copulate in the kitchen?"

* * *

**A/N- Thanks for all the reviews. I loved reading them all. Hopefully this chapter didn't disappoint all of you as i wrote it up in a day. Thanks again and stay tuned.**

**By the way any guesses on who the intruders are?**


	9. When the curtains raise-Run!

**~~ Chapter 9- When the curtains raise...Run!~~**

Hello, is it Estelle? Yes. Great. It's me Gilbert. I was wondering whether Francis has come to Canada?...No, okay. It's all right… Come on Estelle, we didn't lose Francis. Come on…No, I just called you up because Francis went on a trip…around the world kind of trip. So he told me the next place he was going to is a surprise…you're right. Oh continue, okay. So I was wondering whether he came to Canada… why we didn't go with him? Well…it… seriously Estelle, he is all right. Perfect even. He got a tan you know from visiting Morocco…well he, what am I to say he went for the hot girls and the sun. and culture, of course… oh we would have gone too but commitments you know. Okay I have to go so…Estelle I am doing great…I am not acting weird, you know I am always chirpy. I just caught a cold. But the awesome me is just awesome. So no worries, I will be fine…okay I will take care and…yes love you too. Bye Estelle. Miss me."

Gilbert cut the call and sighed. So Francis didn't run away to Canada, that's for certain. He rubbed his temples. That's the eighth call he made for the day and they still didn't know Francis's whereabouts. He nearly kicked a chair in frustration but stopped when he realized it was Francis's chair. The one they had bought in that garage sale years ago. The one Francis would always sit on while sipping his coffee and reading the morning's newspaper. He held the rose wood for a few seconds trying to get his thoughts straight. Thinking about the past wouldn't do. They have to act. And act fast.

Okay so far, they had put fliers up and told their closest friends the truth while calling up Francis's family and acquaintances and telling them a couple of crap stories to know whether they had seen him. And so far they had found nothing. No one had seen Francis which was absolutely awesome not. So now what?

He closed his eyes and tried to come up with a plan but this wasn't as easy as it should have been.

"_It's your fault."_

He closed his eyes tight, trying to ignore the voice only to open it and whimper when it continued.

"_Francis is probably dead. Dead. And look at you. You're doing nothing. Nothing consequential. You are to blame. More than anyone else it is you."_

Gilbert held the chair tight. His fingers digging into the wood.

"_And do you know why? Because Francis is probably dead but you…"_

No. No. Francis can't be dead he will be alright. He will be. He should be.

"_No he won't. He is dead and you. You're alive."_

No. No… Gilbert closed his eyes shut. His body shaking as his knees started losing their strength. Francis, he can't be dead. He is fine. Missing but fine and- _Dead._

"Gil, you okay Amigo?"

Gilbert turned and noticed Tony standing by the doorway looking at him. He shook his head before running over to him and holding him by the shoulders.

"Tony, Francis might be dead." Gilbert's eyes looked at him with fear. His red eyes which would always be filled with joy and a subtle tone of mischief, now only holding one thing…Fear. The kind of fear that tears apart your conscience and scares you so much your very being feels strangled and tony could only stare transfixed as Gilbert continued muttering.

"No one has seen him. No one. Which means he is probably dead. Dead, Tony. Dead. And I," he closed his eyes as tears trailed down his pale cheek, "just…If I had paid attention to what was happening I could have stopped him from leaving but I, I had to fight with you for a churro. A fucking churro and now… if only I had paid attention. If only…"

Tony couldn't respond. His amigo had never ever broken down and seeing him like this, seeing him just two steps away from pulling his hair and breaking down, like completely breaking down was shocking. So Tony stood there not able to do anything as he couldn't speak, couldn't move but could only stare.

Gilbert suddenly opened his eyes and pulled Tony by the shirt. Tony didn't have any time to collect himself. He stared into Gilbert's crazed red eyes as his friend screamed, "I killed him! I killed him! I killed him! I killed him!"

Shit. Tony snapped out of his trance and screamed, "Francis is alive!"

"I killed him…" Gilbert muttered as he stared at Tony. His friend's words sinking in slowly.

"…Alive?" he asked softly. Tony nodded and smiled gently as he hugged Gilbert.

"Yes he is alive. Lovino saw him in Brussels Street."

Tony smiled wider when he felt Gilbert's tight muscles loosen and his friend visibly relax.

Francis is okay. He is alive. Everything will be alright now. "Is he doing well?" Gilbert asked softly.

"Yes," Tony smiled, "Yes he is."

Gilbert moved away, feeling relieved and grinned. "Let's go to Lovino's house and smack Franny Pants for running off without telling us." He turned to walk off when he realized that Tony was smiling nervously.

"Tony," Gilbert started with apprehension, "What is it?"

"Lovino well…" Tony scratched his head before grinning awkwardly, "Lovi told that umm…Francis had- how am I to say-some-not much, just a few-injuries."

One of gilbert's eyebrows slowly rose, "What do you mean 'Injuries'?"

Tony laughed, "Nothing to worry, just you know a few small bruises here and there, a plaster on his nose, you know nothing much."

Gilbert nodded in understanding before smiling, "Well it doesn't seem like much. And you know a few bruises won't hurt him that much."

Tony nodded, "Yeah exactly. You know, nothing much and maybe, you know just maybe, his hand was in a cast but it will be alright and-"

"What?" Gilbert cut him off, his eyes narrowed in disbelief, "He broke his hand?"

Tony scratched his head again before saying, "well, uhm…yes."

"Mein Gott. You must be joking. What did he do, fight a bear?" he stopped to think before, "You know what that sounds awesome. Let's go meet him and we will also buy some sharpies on the way. I want to write about myself on his cast."

He walked towards the door and pulled his jacket on. He buttoned his lower buttons and opened the door only to pause and turn back when Tony said, "Francis is not at Lovi's place."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Lovi left him in that shop and returned back home."

Gilbert stared at Tony with growing unease. This wasn't going to end well.

"And uhm… yeah so bottom line is amigo… we don't know where Francis is staying."

Gilbert's jaw dropped open. Fick.

Francis turned and stared at the group of people who were looking at him with wide eyes. His eyes widened even further when he realized they all had eyes of a familiar shade of green. He looked down to confirm whether he was right. When Arthur looked up at him from his trouser level with large green orbs the color of Gilbert's tooth brush, Francis swallowed. Well isn't this a great way to be introduced to Arthur's family.

"Alain, could you answer me please?"

Arthur stared at his mother in puzzlement. "Who the fuck is Alain?"

Freda pointed at Francis as she said, "The guy you knocked down with a car whom you were about to barney-mug right now."

Arthur could feel a headache starting. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Francis. His name is Francis. And we weren't barney-mugging."

Francis blinked in confusion.

The shortest man of the group who was still a few inches taller than Arthur clarified, "She means sex."

Francis blushed.

Arthur quickly said, "I was buttoning his shirt. His hand is in a cast so he couldn't do it himself."

The tallest one smirked. His red hair glistening in the light, "Oh please little brother. We know what you were doing. Buttoning is what you say but unbuttoning is what we saw."

Arthur's ears reddened and attempted to quickly explain, "I buttoned it wrong so I unbuttoned it. If you lot had not so ungraciously butted in, I would have finished buttoning his shirt in peace."

"Oh really?" The man laughed and bent to pick his cigarette up.

"Give him a break, Alistair." Edgar Kirkland reprimanded gently before smiling at Francis, "So how are you today? Have your injuries healed?"

Freda drew a finger across her mouth as she saw her husband hold out his hand and shake Francis's left hand. Her green eyes scanned the injured blond before saying very loudly.

"You've lost some weight? Doesn't Arthur feed you well?"

Francis looked at the woman who looked back at him expectantly. It didn't seem right to mention about Arthur's cooking skills or the lack there of it. So he gave her his trademark smile. His lips curved upwards as his blue eyes glistened in the light, the fair skin around the edges crinkling slightly.

Freda's cheeks slowly reddened as she looked away, "Oh you mischievous lad."

She pinched Francis's cheek fondly before giggling like a high school girl and walking away into the kitchen.

Francis smiled to himself. Oh the reactions he can induce in another person with just a smile is just so, so soothing to his self-esteem. It's like one of those aromatic candles, always Spicy Cinnamon with a tinge of vanilla, which he lights up when sinking into the marble bathtub in his private bathroom. With the copper and beige coloured walls and the bronze ornaments, his bathroom is simply the best place to relax in or have a dip with a lovely Belle or a handsome Homme or all three.

Wait. Francis opened his eyes. Copper Coloured walls, Aromatic candles. When did his bathroom have that? He racked his brain to remember arranging his bathroom like that …non. Nothing at all. He can't remember doing that to his bathroom in the apartment at Berlin street. And the bathroom in that apartment was a smaller one but the one he had suddenly remembered, that bathroom it was bigger, more spacious. It was a private bathroom. Only his. In the previous apartment he and his friends shared the bathroom. So what did he just remember? Could it be…non, it can't but…What if it was? What if it was the bathroom from his new apartment? The one he and his friends had supposedly moved into after being kicked out. But how can it be? After all with so many things he could have remembered how can it be the bathroom he remembers first. Just why? He couldn't come up with a reason. Not even one.

"You must be joking. Did you just flirt with Marmee?" one of the other brothers said with a raised eyebrow, only to have another who looked quite a lot like him grin and wrap his hand around his dear little baby brother's shoulder.

Francis stared at the siblings after being rather harshly pulled out of his thoughts.

"You know something Aedan?"

The brown hairedman turned and looked in time to have his nose pinched. The other laughed as he held on to the small, quickly reddening nose and didn't lose his grip even when the younger one tried to pry his hands away.

"Would you like your Marmee to feed you some milk with Guinness?"

"Angis cud did oud" the man squirmed under his brother's grips only to finally get freedom when Aengus abruptly took his hand away.

Aedan rubbed his nose and glared at his twin only to smile in amusement. Aengus hissed in pain and struggled as his head stayed in a firm choke hold. Alistair blew a puff of smoke before yanking his younger brother higher.

"No bullying the little one, Aengus. How many times should I tell you that before it sinks into your little brain. And also learn to behave in front of outsiders. Unless you fancy being kicked on your precious nether regions by our dearest Mam."

Francis's eyes widened at the scene unfolding in front of him with his mouth agape. Mon Dieu. What is happening? He turned to ask Arthur for help only to see the blond filling the electronic kettle with water while ignoring whatever his brothers were doing.

"Arthur, your brothers." Francis said trying to alert the man to act.

The blond shrugged before placing the kettle onto its base and letting it boil away.

"You would learn to ignore it as time passes."

"But-" Francis argued but he stopped midsentence when he felt a hand hold his shoulder. He turned around with apprehension to see the other brother, the one who explained what that long word meant smile at him.

"Don't worry about them. That's how they bond."

Francis quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything in reply. The other Kirkland smiled, "My name is Aled. I am the second brother. The twins over there are Aedan and Aengus and of course the red haired one is Alistair. He is the eldest of us lot."

"And Arthur?" Francis asked curiously.

Aled laughed good-humouredly before saying, "he is the grandpa."

Seeing Francis look at him in puzzlement Aled grinned before explaining, "Well he is the baby of the family but you have to agree that he has the qualities of a grandpa. That sour attitude, the ever-swearing nature and the ability to hold his liquor as well as a-" he suddenly stopped speaking and paled slightly. "Artie, you would not do that."

Arthur pointed the knife at him.

"Maybe you would." Aled quickly said before running out to the living room. Francis blinked in confusion. What is happening? He turned around only to spot Arthur hurriedly keeping a knife away before grinning at him.

"Do you have any questions, wanker?"

Francis ignored the insult and asked, "Your family…Are they tripping on something?"

Arthur looked at him in surprise, "How did you find out?"

"What?" Francis asked aghast.

Arthur scratched his head, "Well ever since we were little, mom and dad used to do drugs. And we picked up the habit as we grew older. My brothers absolutely love the stuff but me not so much. I gave up on it when I went to college."

"Mon Dieu, you cannot be serious." Francis said inwardly panicking. Did he just get stuck with a Family of drug addicts?

"I really do wish I was joking but I am not." Arthur sighed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Promise me Francis. You won't tell a word about this to anyone."

"Arthur. What Drogue are they taking?"

"Plenty really," Arthur said softly as if trying to make sure no one else except Francis could what he was saying. "But mostly Cocaine and heroin."

Francis's jaw dropped open. Oh Mon Dieu!

**A/N- Ok I am so sorry for the delay. So first of all, I hope no one got offended because of the drug addict thing. If you did just review or pm me and I will respond. Anyone who liked the chapter can also review. Plus if Gilbert's reaction seemed a bit OC then trust me it is not. Prussia has his scars and pretty big ones at that.**

**I will try to update in a few days time. Thanks for sticking with the story. Au revoir. See you next time.**


	10. When you can't run then hide or laugh

**A/N- Sorry for the lengthy delay. I went on vacation to India and after I came back there was so much of work that had to be completed so I couldn't write up the chapter. But here it is...finally. And it's the tenth chapter, YAY!**

**Thanks for all the reviews and all the follows and favourites. A special mention goes out to Tiravel (did I get it right?) I saw this story mentioned on your blog and I am so glad that you are recommending my story. Thank you so much. **

**And because this story has 59 followers- which is so amazing because I did not expect that many-I decided to give you a treat. I will write a bonus chapter. You don't have to click follow because of this but I just decided to do so because you people have really been so kind and you are reading this story even after all the time between chapters. So I figure this is the least I can do. The bonus chapter will be out as soon as I write it. **

**So thank you guys and here we go...**

* * *

**~~Chapter 10- When you can't run... then hide...or laugh.~~**

Freda stirred her Earl Grey Tea and looked at her son and his…friend. The two boys were standing by the counter whispering to one another. She tried to listen in- as a mother, it's her right to be concerned about her son…and listen to whatever he is talking about- and much to her disappointment she couldn't hear much at all. Maybe if she got just a bit closer…after all Francis seemed pretty freaked out. Who wouldn't be? With Arthur for company and all.

She continued stirring her tea and slowly, feigning nonchalance walked towards the counter.

Arthur's heightened sense of perception (he had grown up with four elder brothers what did you expect? Oh and the shit that went down recently, yeah that too contributed very, very greatly) alerted him to his approaching mother. Well couldn't the hag mind her own business?

"Mom is behind you." Arthur mouthed to Francis who instantly stiffened.

Freda offered a smile at the two of them.

Arthur and Francis turned around to face her and smiled widely.

Well that's suspicious. Freda took a sip of her tea and observed the two men. Arthur had smiled at her and if that isn't a reason to suspect something's going on then god knows what is.

"Why did you two stop? You can continue speaking."

Francis laughed, "It's nothing that important."

"Really?"

"Yes." Arthur replied. "So what is it that you want?"

Freda laughed. "As a mother can't I speak to my little baby?"

Arthur glared at her. "I am not little." He paused for a second then added, "and not a baby either."

Freda ruffled her son's hair messing it all up before asking Francis in a gentle tone whether he was all right. Francis nodded.

The woman shot a glance at Arthur who glared at her and she gave up. Just for the time being.

She turned and walked off to peep into their fridge. Arthur using the opportunity whispered.

"Don't act like a nervous freak. Don't give them the slightest idea that you know the truth. All right?"

Francis's eyes widened. "Why should I hide it? Will they…become particularly dangerous if they realize that i- Oh mon dieu." Francis looked at Arthur in horror. "They would, won't they?"

"Look," Arthur said seriously. "Don't do anything reckless and please behave normally."

Francis nearly jumped out of his skin when Freda's voice rang out, "Your fridge doesn't have much things in it. Why don't you go and buy some?"

What a relief. Francis smiled, "Of course we can," he looked at Arthur overjoyed, "both of us can go pick up the groceries."

Looping a hand around Arthur's arm, he pulled Arthur towards the door.

"Wait a minute, Francis."

Oh mon dieu. What now?

Francis turned to look at Freda, his heartbeat speeding up dangerously.

"Why don't you stay with us? Arthur can go pick the groceries up. We can get to know one another better, don't you think?"

Francis's eyes widened and he gulped. Non.

* * *

Edgar pulled the first aid kit from under the sink and ran over to the living room. Agnes brought the jug filled with water and nearly knocked onto his father but Edgar dodged in the nick of time.

"Careful Agnes!" he said slightly alarmed and without sticking around to hear Agnes say "Sorry papa," he raced over to the couch and handed the kit to Arthur.

"My darling, what did you say to make him faint? I have always told you to be careful with your words." He chastised.

Freda looked up at him in puzzlement. "I have no idea, Edgar. I just asked him to stay back. That's all I said. I swear upon our children."

Five pairs of angry green eyes glared at her.

"Well," she said slightly irritated, "it is the truth."

Arthur shook his head and wetted a cloth in some water and wiped Francis's face with it. When Francis didn't stir, Arthur tried again but still no sign of him waking up.

Remembering the concussion he had earlier Arthur looked at his parents anxiously. "Do you think he could have had another concussion?"

Freda touched Francis's head gently and said, "To be honest, I am not sure. Don't move him." She turned to look at Edgar and ordered, "Get the car. Let's drive him to the hospital."

Arthur looked at Francis. Oh no. Not again. What had he done? What would happen to Francis now? He will be all right wouldn't he? What if something horrible happens? What if...he dies?

Alistair looked at his parents and then at Arthur who seemed to be a thimble's close to bursting into tears. He blew out a puff of smoke from his cigarette and in one swift movement grabbed the jug of water and poured all of it on Francis's face.

Arthur stared in horror as the water splashed from Francis's face and onto the carpet. What the actual fuck?

The room was suddenly in a chilling silence. The only sound was the dripping of water.

And then...

"Oh mon dieu, what happened? Why am I wet? Did it rain?"

Arthur blinked in surprise and then slowly his shoulders relaxed as he smiled. A collective sigh went around the room.

Francis stared at his drenched clothes and then shivered as the cold seeped in.

"Hey you!"

Francis looked up to see who had spoken only to realize Alistair was a mere inch away from his face.

Alistair smiled as the cigarette hung from his mouth. He brushed a drop of water from Francis's chin and teased, "Had a good nap sleeping beauty?"

Francis blushed. Arthur gawked.

And then...slap.

Francis looked astonished as Alistair's head turned sharply to his right with a red fist print marking his pale left cheek.

Arthur stretched his fingers out and glared dangerously. "Don't take advantage of idiotic French men," he warned before pulling Francis up and walking away to his bedroom.

Francis blinked in confusion as Arthur pushed him into the room and after sending a final glare Alistair's way he shut the door with a bang.

Francis winced as he heard the sound reverberate.

"Arthur, what happened?" Francis asked as he searched for a towel.

Arthur took a towel from a clothes pile and handed it to the absolutely soaked man.

"Nothing much. You just fainted. Do you want a hair dryer?"

Francis eyed the short unruly mess of hair atop Arthur's head and said incredulously, "You have a hair dryer?"

Arthur looked up stunned. Shit. A blush crept its way onto his cheeks. For fuck's sake, why did he have to mention that?

So he laughed out loud, and turning to face Francis he batted his hand, "My mistake, did I say _hair _dryer? No. I meant _clothes_ dryer." He laughed manically. "You could put your head into it and voila, your head would be all dry."

Francis stared at Arthur and added, "If I still had a head."

"What are you hiding?" he asked as he patted his hair dry.

"Nothing." Arthur replied curtly before turning away only for Francis to stop drying his hair then shaking his head he looped the towel around Arthur's waist and pulled him back.

"So tell me Mon Cherie, What are you hiding?"

Arthur blushed red as he felt Francis's warm breath on his neck sending tingles down his spine and feeling Francis's right hand brushing his back it really didn't make things more comfortable not that Francis could help it, what with the sling and all.

However Arthur in an effort to get the Frenchman to back off elbowed him on his abdomen and pushed him backwards.

"Oww." Francis moaned.

"Serves you right, you pervert." He grabbed another shirt from the bag lying on the bed and undid the packing. "Are you hurting anywhere?"

Francis stared at him in disbelief, "Seriously, you are asking me this? You just punched me."

"Elbowed, there is a difference."

"Whatever." Francis muttered as he rubbed his abdomen and grimaced in pain.

Arthur turned and looked at Francis with concern. Did he really elbow him that hard?

Feeling Arthur's eyes on him, Francis glanced upwards and then smiled. "You look very worried, Mon amour. Don't worry i will be fine and then we can get lost in the pleasures of the skin."

Arthur felt a nerve pop. He should have elbowed him harder.

"Shut up frog. Let's get you out of that shirt."

"Oh my."

"Fuck you."

"Of course."

"Go to hell."

* * *

After a few minutes of stunned silence Aengus piped up, "So do you think little brother was jealous?"

Alistair rubbed his throbbing cheek and muttered who cares before walking out of the apartment. Coming down onto the street, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. After taking one and replacing the rest, he took his phone and dialled a very familiar number.

After five rings, someone picked the phone up.

"Hey, Al. I am sorry for taking some time to pick the line up. Had some work. You're coming over tonight aren't you? I have something verrry special ready for you. I'll give you a clue. The second word is plugs."

Alistair choked and the cigarette tumbled to the floor.

"Al, are you okay?"

Amidst the bout of severe cough, Alistair answered. "Plugs?"

"Yes. Are you sure you're alright?"

Alistair rubbed his chest as the cough subsided.

"Look Drew," his voice strained but he still continued, "Do you know someone called Francis?"

"Francis...hmm. Well yes I do but you won't know him. Brits aren't his type."

Alistair shot a glance at the apartment above him. He could make out Arthur and Francis by the window. Arthur was...Goodness gracious. What is wrong with this family? Is Arthur removing the damsel's shirt and wait... what is on with the French guy? He looks fucking happy and... amazed? Oh crap, he is making doe eyes. Fucking doe eyes. What the hell is going on up there? Oh god, that French guy looks so sappy. And what the hell is he looking so amazed for? Arthur's straw hair? Who knows?

How the heck is he going to unsee this shit?

They could have at least drawn the fucking curtains.

"Anyway why are you asking about Francis?"

Alistair covered his eyes as he said, "There is a guy in my little bro's apartment. A certain Francis. It's a long story and I am really not in the mood to tell you the whole lot of it. But I think I can brief it up. Arthur he...well...knocked a stranger down with his car but it can't be all Arthur's fault you know. I mean yes the guy is a pompous idiot but he doesn't do that kind of stuff on purpose or even by accident so the Frenchie surely has something to do with this mess. But anyway now the Frenchie can't remember a thing from the past two years and doesn't know who to contact. Why the moron can't remember even one number is a mystery." He pulled a cigarette out, lit it and then took a deep breath of it before continuing, "He looks a bit like you. You know same skin tone and something in his eyes."

"Really? Hmm. Anyway how is your brother coping with all of this?"

"Surprisingly well actually." Alistair said as he glanced up , grimaced and then looked down . Oh god. Those two fools. There is a reason why curtains were fucking invented.

"Any moment now they might start fucking."

"Really?" Drew teased.

Alistair blinked. Damn. Did he just say that?

"Al?"

He cleared his throat before saying, "It's complicated."

Drew laughed. Alistair smiled. He really did sound like an angel when he laughed.

"Anyway, your Accident guy is not my cousin Francis. My cousin has gone on an around the world kind of trip. He visited Shanghai. He apparently loves the culture there. Beautiful Chinese girls and yummy noodles, what more could he ask for? I am not sure where he is now though, apparently it's a surprise. But it's certainly not Hetalia. And plus if he was indeed your guy then Gilbert would have certainly informed us about him being missing and all. Anyway I hope your brother's newest interest regains his memory. I mean it must suck, nah? Not being able to remember anything that happened in the past two years."

Alistair scratched his head and nodded. "Yeah it must. We will try our best to get him to remember his past. After all he can't play house with Arthur forever. Anyway I will come over tonight. Take care Drew. I love you."

"I love you too. Be safe."

After ending the call, Alistair glanced up at the window and sighed in relief when he noticed that the two weren't there. He blew a puff of smoke and walked inside the apartment, waving at Aled and bringing him to a stop when he came out of the elevator. Once the younger brother was on his way with some extra money to buy some specific purchases, Alistair got on the lift and blew another puff of smoke. For some weird reason he couldn't shake off what Drew had said in the end.

Why did he have this stupid feeling? That if the Frenchie somehow manages to remember everything then the situation would only get worse.

* * *

Arthur walked out of the room with Francis following close behind. The Frenchman just hadn't shut up. All the while through putting that shirt on he had to say one thing or another. And then oddly enough he had become silent but not for long. He had opened that froggy mouth and spewed more nonsense than what Alfred does. And Alfred is the superman when it comes to talking bullshit.

Francis couldn't hold back a smile as Arthur silently puffed away in anger. This man is just so ridiculously easy to tease. Remembering what had gone down in the bedroom. Nothing much just him pulling Arthur's leg and all. It had all been in good jest until he had realised just how kind Arthur was. He was helpful to the point it could get annoying. But still he is a nice man. And he had thought about it. About how it could have been someone else who could have knocked him down and he had realised that-

"How are you doing, Francis?" Freda asked gently abruptly breaking his thoughts.

She moved to check his head when Francis smiled and said, "I am fine."

"Are you going somewhere?" she asked kindly.

"We are going to do some grocery shopping." Arthur replied as he pulled his coat on.

Freda shook her head and said sternly, "What makes you think that is a good idea? This boy just fainted."

Because of you, Arthur said inwardly. He really did not want to say that one out aloud. If he did then all the gates of hell would be pried open and well...it's not pretty.

"You two should stay here. And Francis if anything hurts, my boy, then tell me."

Francis smiled. Oh she is such a dear. He sniffed the air around her trying to get a wisp of drugs but he couldn't smell a thing. He threw a glance over to the couch where the twins were quarrelling over the remote control and then at Edgar who came from the kitchen holding a tea pot.

"Have some tea. It is good for you. It will relax your muscles and calm you down. It has some sugar in it after all you could use all the energy especially after what just happened." Pouring the tea into a dainty little cup, he walked over and gave it to Francis who smiled graciously before accepting the cup full of warm, fragrant liquid. Spotting the empty bay window seat, he walked over and sat down.

He looked around the room once again. The twins were now having a fist fight and Francis looked at them first in surprise and then his eyes softened as he remembered how Gilbert would quarrel with Tony over simple things ranging from the TV's remote to bathroom manners to even churros. Silly little things which he would get annoyed with but now... how he wished he could have them here. They could all tease Arthur. Joke around in this small living room. Plan some outrageous pranks, maybe even find a way to shape those ridiculous caterpillars on Arthur's face. Non. Those eyebrows are kind of cute. And in the oddest of ways they suit Arthur. They could however do something regarding his wardrobe though. It's not flattering in the least. Arthur looks like a grandfather. A lonely, British grandfather.

Seeing Alistair come in Francis greeted him in French.

Arthur just stared. So that's it. Francis isn't going out with him. He is just going to sit here and drink tea. Well fine. He can still go out though. Grocery shopping is just the perfect excuse to get away from this bunch. He straightened his coat and walked towards the door and opened it to leave but found himself pausing. He glanced at Francis who was now chatting away with Alistair.

It wasn't right. If he leaves then the Frenchman would be left alone with his awful family. And he is the only one the guy knows. The rest of them are practically strangers to him. Well he is too but as of right now he is the only one Francis has and he just can't leave.

He shut the door and removed his coat as he walked towards the bay window.

"Hey Al, get me some tea."

The older brother stood up and flipped him a finger before leaving. Arthur shrugged and sat next to Francis. Well thank you very much for the seat.

"You could have some of mine." Francis said as he lent him the cup. Arthur didn't refuse. He took a sip and smiled as he tasted the subtle flavour of jasmine.

Francis put his hands into his trouser pockets and remarked, "I didn't see this flavour in your cupboard. All you have are Earl Grey's."

"And they taste delicious," Arthur added before taking another sip.

Francis grinned. Well Arthur and his pride.

"I for one like infused teas." He said as he looked at Arthur with glee.

"Well that explains why you are barmy."

Francis rolled his eyes and bit back a retort. Noticing Mrs Kirkland placing a kiss atop Mr Kirkland's head, Francis smiled pleasantly and then leaned over close to Arthur's ear.

Arthur's eyes widened and he swallowed the tea way too quickly when he heard Francis say, "Mon Hérisson chéri, when are you planning to apologise?"

What?

Francis smirked as he explained, "Your family is perfectly normal. They are not on drugs."

Arthur blinked in confusion before remembering what happened some time ago. Oh. Shit.

"How would you know?" he asked. Well croaked. But what's the difference? He is still caught. Like a rat on a trap. Except the rat really kind of deserves whatever is coming next.

"I realised just how alike your family is to mine. And how normal they really are. Yes in the morning I freaked out but that was mainly because I wasn't expecting them but now seeing them from here. They seem all right. Nice even."

Arthur tried to fight the blush creeping its way onto his cheek. He didn't let it win though. He had blushed enough times already damn it. But still hearing some nice words about his family is quite pleasant. Yes they are awful and he wouldn't trust them to be alone with Francis but nevertheless they were still _his_ group of morons. And it felt nice to hear a compliment.

"Oh and asking Alistair helped clarify everything."

Arthur turned around and stared at Francis. What the fuck? "What?"

Francis smiled at him and blew him a kiss.

Fucking jerk.

"Hey twerp."

Arthur looked up to see Alistair who handed him a cup of tea and then bent down and whispered rather viciously , "Us on drugs? Really little brother? We weren't the ones who knocked down a man with a car and then flirted with the amnesiac all throughout his stay. I mean what has it been three days since the accident?"

Arthur nodded. And then realizing what Al said before he glared, "I wasn't flirting with him."

"Oh really? Then what was it I saw by the window, huh?"

Arthur blinked in confusion. What? What happened by the window? He looked at Alistair questioningly but the elder Kirkland just smirked before walking away leaving a puzzled Arthur and an amused Francis.

"What did he tell you?" Francis asked.

Arthur just stared at Alistair's retreating form and then at Francis and then back at Alistair again.

"Hey mama, Could you order Chinese?" Alistair asked after he kissed Freda's cheek.

Freda smiled at her eldest and replied, "Of course, what do you-"

She was cut off by a rather abrupt yell which had everyone else staring up from whatever they had been doing previously. Francis covered his ears and laughed.

"What the hell did you see by the window, bloody wanker?"


	11. The Storm

**A/N- Sorry for the lengthy delay. I started my BSC in Psychology and things have been hectic. Anyway have fun reading this chapter.**

* * *

_**~~Chapter 11-The Storm~~**_

Paris Street is… amazing. Warsaw Street is better, yes but Paris Street is still just lovely. Felix looked around him at the elegant buildings with decorative metal lamps and polished, wooden windows. Felix glanced at the displays laying behind the glass panels, Expensive perfumes lying on velvet and silk cushions, elegant jewelries; necklaces holding the prettiest rubies, sapphires and of course diamonds and the most marvelous rings… Some windows had the most beautifully constructed cakes kept safely amidst roses and lilies.

But none of them can compare well one can but anyway the rest cannot compare to the stores that were the reason why Paris street is and will always be one of the best streets in Hetalia; the Stores hiding in plain sight the most jaw dropping and dashing and of course sophisticated clothes. Glamorous dresses in the prettiest shades of pink. Well there were other colours but nothing can match pink and damn did Paris street have the best shades; Baby Pink, Salmon Pink, Hot Pink and even Amaranth which is a cross between crimson and Brink Pink and of course his personal favourite shocking pink because he, Felix Łukasiewicz is shocking. He shocks the living daylights out of people. He had done it so many times but most recently he nearly made Francis faint because he is shocking, dude. Just shocking.

"Felix, would you like to eat something?"

The familiar voice broke through his thoughts but it was welcome.

Felix turned and smiled at the brunette standing next to him. Toris smiled back.

"Yes I would." Felix said as he moved closer to Toris while wiggling his eyebrows. Toris's cheeks reddened but then he quickly leaned over and kissed the pale forehead of his lover.

Felix froze. His cheeks warmed. He looked up at Toris as the sound of violins met his ear.

"Toris…"

He didn't know what to say. It was unexpected. Toris wasn't one to be open with his affections. He was shy. But damn. His forehead still tingled. That felt nice. Really, really nice.

Toris moved away and pulled his jacket around him. His cheeks were rosy. " How about I go and get us some baguettes?"

Felix chuckled. "That would be nice."

Toris held his hand for a fleeting moment before leaving his side and entering the bakery on their left. Felix looked at Toris and felt a yearning for something more. Surprises were nice but there was another surprise he wanted. Something he had wanted for quite some time now. He glanced at his ring finger and hoped for something he knew he shouldn't care for. After all he and Toris had talked about this. He knew Toris's opinion about this. He knew it so why did he still crave for it?

He glanced at the bakery where Toris was chatting with the baker and then he decided to go to that store. He knew he shouldn't. His brain was telling him not to but his heart wanted it. And he followed his heart more anyway.

He walked past the bakery and onto a lane. A band was playing nearby as people walked.

Felix smiled. That explained the music he heard after Toris kissed him. His cheeks warmed as he remembered the smooth warm lips touching his forehead. He shook his hands giddily. He still couldn't believe it. Toris kissed him. In the middle of one of the busiest streets in hetalia. His Toris. He sighed happily before remembering that he really ought to go now. Especially if he had to go back before Toris bought the baguettes.

Felix walked quickly, raising his pace as he neared a bend and then as he turned left he stopped in his tracks. There it was. Le bonheur d'or. Felix walked over and peeped through the window to look at the gorgeous jewelry on display. Well specifically one.

There it lay on a luxurious velvet cushion, the most beautiful ring he had ever seen. Platinum gleamed as light shined upon it and the beautiful emerald held carefully in its embrace glittered with pride as it beckoned Felix unto it with its luster and sure enough Felix stared transfixed.

He could imagine Toris proposing to him in Paris Street. His lover getting down on one knee and declaring his love for Felix while all the shoppers around them cheer them on and then all of a sudden they are in stunned silence as Toris pulls out a small blue box and gently opens it revealing a lovely velvet cushion in which lay the emerald ring shining like the stars above them. And then Toris says in a deep voice as he holds felix's hand.

"Will you-"

"Move out of the fucking way."

Felix jumped back and turned to look at a disgruntled shopper.

"Sorry." Felix mumbled as the man glared at him. Felix threw a longing glance at the ring before turning to leave. It could never happen. His dream will be just that; a dream. He glanced at the sky above him only to see clouds. Plenty of clouds. Well isn't that nice. He sighed as he walked down the lane. He looked around him at the pristine buildings and the lovely stone-paved lane; he smiled softly. Maybe he couldn't have a lovely ring, an amazing wedding or a honeymoon in France but he did have Toris and his brown haired, cute librarian with a heart worth more than all the emerald rings in the entire world was more than enough. At least for now.

He shook his head and glanced at the street lights streaming warm orange light. Why couldn't they have this kind in London Street? They just had the awful white one. Yuck. If only he could move to Paris street. If only. He walked past a street light admiring its elegant black post only to glare as he noticed a flyer stuck onto the smooth black iron. Oh come on. Why can't people these days care about the streets more? Ruining marvelous and beautiful street lights with ugly posters.

He ripped the flyer and crumpled it only stopping when he read the word missing. It was curiosity which made him straighten the paper out but then when he noticed the photograph smiling back at him he gulped.

A handsome face greeted him. A face he had become familiar with in the past few days. A face which had scared the living daylights out of him in the bathroom.

Ja pierdole...

* * *

"I told you nothing beats a good chowmein."

"That is because you don't have the sophisticated palette needed to savour the delicious and exotic mi-goreng."

Alistair glared at his mother "mi-goreng is just glorified noodles."

"And chowmein is its homeless cousin." Freda smirked as she twirled her fork in the noodles and then took a bite.

"You do know that this corn soup is better than both of that, right?" Aled said after taking a sip from his bowl.

Alistair shrugged, "Well it is good."

Freda shook her head, "What do my children know about good food? Nothing I tell you." She turned to francis. "So tell me francis, as the exquisite chef you are, which one is your favourite?"

Francis who had been amusedly observing the Kirkland family quickly responded without skipping a beat. "The dumpling of course."

Freda smiled at him before announcing, "Frenchman I tell you, have bloody tastebuds."

Francis grinned as he heard the rest of the family except Arthur laugh and cheer. He turned towards Arthur and whispered, "Your mom's a sweetie."

Arthur who was glaring away at his mom muttered "The hag wasn't praising you."

Oh well. Francis grinned. He had a feeling he could understand the way this family worked. Insult=Love. It was very different to his. He twirled his fork and picked up some of the dripping noodles. Lovino would insult Feliciano who would just grin and say something simple. His papa would laugh and joke around loudly while talking about his previous conquests. His beau-père would ignore his dad. His maman would ignore his dad. She ignores everyone except him. She would always smile at francis and speak with him. Make sure he was well taken care of. She would save the best portion of chicken for him. The best seat for him. The best plate and glass and so on. She loved him. A lot. But then…

"Hey Francis, would you like to hear about Arthur's hair spray incident?"

Francis looked up at Aengus. "Oui."

"Hell no." Arthur glared at Aengus. "That is personal, you little shit."

Aengus laughed and said. "So when Arthur was in high school he went through a particular phase."

"A phase of stupidity. He still didn't grow out of it." Freda helpfully supplied.

"Oh shut up." Arthur growled .Freda turned around to glare at her child.

"That's not how you speak to your mother, Arthur." Edgar chastised as he took some of the empty plates into the kitchen.

"Yes. Don't you dare speak to me like that! Do you understand?"

"Why can't I?" Arthur slammed his hand on the table and stood up.

"Arthur calm down." Francis said softly rubbing Arthur's back. He looked alarmed as Freda stood up.

"I am your mother."

"Mon ami, calm down." Francis said trying to pull Arthur gently back into his seat.

"My mother? Really? You are a condescending bitch. You keep putting me down. All the bloody, fucking time!"

The dining room suddenly became very quiet as no one dared to utter a word. Francis held Arthur's hand and squeezed it gently before standing up to pull him away.

"What did you say?"

Edgar came in from the kitchen. His eyes as firm and dark as cast-iron.

Arthur tried to keep his heart beat in control but it continued to beat louder and faster. A shiver ran through his spine. He glanced at his father who was walking his way. His throat felt dry. He wondered for a split second if his voice would be hoarse. He felt the hand squeezing his own. Soft, smooth skin. Francis. Francis would be disgusted wouldn't he? He would hate Arthur. He would blame him. But it wasn't his fault.

"Dad. I-"

"Don't you dare." Edgar walked over and signaled the others to stand up. "She is your mother. You cannot speak to her like that. I have told you before Arthur and don't make me repeat it again. Next time you speak to your mother so vilely. I promise you, you wouldn't be able to call us your family ever again."

Arthur looked down at his feet. His vision was getting blurry and his head hurt. No one would listen to him. No one cares. It's always his fault. It will always be his fault.

"Ever since we came here, all you have done is be rude. You hate our presence especially your mother's. I do not know why you behave as such. You are the most selfish person I have ever met. You don't need a family. You would be fine by yourself."

He turned his back to Arthur and gently tugged Freda along. "I am going down to the car. Boys clean up and come down. Not you Arthur."

Francis frowned. He didn't know at whom he was frowning. Arthur or Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland? At this point he didn't want to know.

"Mon lapin." He said gently as he rubbed Arthur's hand with his thumb. The blonde man didn't reply. Francis noted how Arthur looked at his feet. How his lips quivered as he blinked rapidly. He had never seen Arthur look so vulnerable. Never. The Brit was a loudmouth . Hot-headed as well. However he was also considerate and sometimes surprisingly kind. But never once had he looked so troubled. So … pitiful.

"Arthur." Francis said.

The blonde stiffened. His shoulders straightened as he pulled his arm away and walked quickly away into his bedroom.

Francis heard the door click loudly.

"He will be alright. Don't worry."

Francis looked at Alistair. He couldn't understand what happened. Why did Arthur get angry? Why did Edgar say all of that? Why did all of this have to happen? He could ask Alistair but none of this concerns him. In a few days he would be gone. So why should he get involved?

He offered a smile at Alistair before glancing at the half eaten food on the plates. "Are you going to finish that?"

"Well there is no use wasting good food." Aedan remarked as he sat back down and took his fork and dug into his noodles."

Alistair tried not to sigh. Jesus. He wanted a cigarette so bad. His family was so screwed up in the head and it was giving his a headache. He sat down and pulled his plate over before eating. Guess food would have to do.

Aengus shuffled his feet before shrugging "I am not feeling hungry I think I will go down."

His elder brother sighed. "Well let's meet again someday." He held his hand out and Francis shook it. "I hope so."

"And-" Aled added before turning to leave. "I hope you get your memories back."

* * *

Francis stirred the pot of soup while looking out of the window. It was too dark to see anything. He couldn't even make out the chest nut tree that was there in the yard. He sighed again for the umpteenth time before turning the stove off. He pulled out two bowls and spoons and then set the table.

He shot a glance at the bedroom door. Hours had passed but Arthur still hadn't come out. He had tried to coax Arthur out. He had even promised the most despicable things created on this earth; scones but Arthur hadn't responded. Not even a peep or a "wanker." he kept the napkin next to the bowl and then sat down. He stared with fascination as the clock's hands moved slowly from 8.21 to 8.23 before giving up and standing. He stomped over to the door and turned the door knob and it turned.

Francis stared dumbfounded. It had been open? Merde. He wasted all his time waiting for Arthur to unlock the door when it was already unlocked? He is a blonde. He walked in silently and met pitch darkness. Why couldn't Arthur turn the light on? Had he been summoning demons? He tried to make his way through the dark to turn the lights on and after a bit of fumbling about and even somehow managing to stub his toe on a chest of drawers (which required a whole lot of willpower so as to not scream like a girl guide) he finally reached the switch and turned it on. He breathed deeply as his toe throbbed in pain. Why in the world should all the bad things happen to him? He grimaced and turned around.

Concern grew as he noticed Arthur slumped on the floor leaning back on the bed. He walked towards the brit and then stood still in his tracks. His eyes prickled as he noticed that Arthur looked like a mess. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were puffy. his cheeks looked swollen and he could still see tear tracks. The blonde breathed raggedly as his eyes stayed closed.

What had happened to him?

Francis kneeled down and brushed a tear track away. Seeing Arthur like this saddened him. It was Arthur's no nonsense nature and cynical optimism that gave him strength. At least enough strength to continue doing something. If Arthur had given up then Francis would have been well and truly lost. He patted Arthur's hair down, untangling the knots. He didn't want to ask questions. He didn't want to get involved. If everything goes well he will have to leave and at that time he didn't want o have any regrets. But…

He moved towards Arthur and sat next to him. He gently lifted Arthur's head and placed it on his shoulder. He looked tired and worn out. Like there was so much pain inside him. like there was a heavy burden on his shoulders he had to carry. Francis placed his head on Arthur's.

Arthur had helped him even though he didn't have to. The least he could do is repay the favour.

He placed a kiss on Arthur's hair and said gently. "Je vais essayer d'alléger le fardeau que vous portez , mon ami"

Arthur looked at the dark room he was in. He could hear the thunder clap as lightning flashed every once in a while. He could his mom scream from outside the door. He couldn't understand what she was saying. It was like the noise coming out of a faulty radio. He closed his ears trying to block her out. He wanted her gone. He wanted her to leave. He was sick of this. He was so sick of this. He could hear the honk of a car. He knew that sound. He knew it. He closed his eyes and ears. Please go away. Please just go away.

"It will be alright mon lapin."

Arthur opened his eyes. He looked at the dark room. He could hear his mom screaming and the honking of the car.

"It will be alright."

"The bloody Frenchman won't let me be even in my nightmares." Arthur muttered. He felt the warmth around him. Someone was holding him close. The smell of mild perfume and pumpkin soup greeted him. He knew this scent. But why did he smell like pumpkin soup?

He smiled softly as he let himself sink into the warmth. It will be alright.

* * *

Felix closed the door and walked into the apartment. He locked the door behind him and tried to steady himself. He needed to tell Francis. He had to. Francis would finally be able to go home to his family. To the place where he belongs.

He hung his coat and then walked over to Arthur's bedroom and pushed the door open. His eyes widened in surprise as he noticed Francis and Arthur lying on the floor with their backs to the bed asleep. Francis was holding Arthur close as they slept. They looked peaceful and content. Felix held his pocket.

Should he tell them?

* * *

**A/N- This chapter was a bit more would lighten up again. We will have our beloved FrUk quarreling. No worries. A reviewer once asked me why Arthur was the one taking the blame for the whole fiasco. Well let's just say the answer to that is going to be explored. **

**Once again review if you like the chapter. And I am sorry for any problems in the writing. **

**Love you all. Thanks for reading.**


	12. There is a solution

_**~~Chapter 12- There is a solution~~**_

It was warm.

Not the unpleasant kind but the one he wanted. The one he sought every time things went south. The kind of warmth which assures him that he is safe. No one can touch him. No one can hurt him.

He had wanted this for so long but he never got the chance to experience it. No one had held him.

Well not recently.

He had been embraced when he was little. Alistair used to sneak into his bed at night and hold him when he had nightmares. His words of comfort used to drive away the monsters in his sleep while his hand would hold Arthur's own and tug him along across the dark forest and silent hills and onto the clouds above which would become pink and then little cute critters would come out of their hiding places from the wisps of cotton candy and crowd around his feet, snuggling onto his legs while bringing a wide smile onto Arthur's face. And then when the laughter of the critters and Arthur fades away and Arthur wakes up, his head buried in his pillow with the duvet tucked around him to keep him warm, he knows even though he is nowhere to be found, big brother had been there. He had kept Arthur safe.

Al had been Arthur's light house. The tall, strong building that always watched out for him and kept him safe. But then recently the light house had crumbled away. Arthur made it crumble.

And his mother… she had a lot on her plate. She had to go through a lot so she wants to toughen all her kids up, make sure their skin is a heavy armor plate so nothing can break them. But that's not what Arthur wants.

He wants care.

He wants love.

And he can't find it.

He felt something on his head; on his hair. It moved gently caressing his rough hair strands.

Arthur smiled.

He liked this. He liked the warmth of being held.

He liked it very much.

He could stay like this forever.

He would be perfectly happy with it.

Absolutely.

No Mom. No Roderich. No Amnesia. No Alfred.

Arthur will be safe here. Arthur will be happy here. And that is what matters.

Arthur smiled and let himself slip back into slumber.

Which was nice and all except for one problem; Francis's neck hurt like a bitch.

Francis groaned. It was a terrible idea to fall asleep here. His neck was sore from being kept sideways the whole night. It felt like someone was beating his neck into a pulp using a spork.

He looked at Arthur again and seeing the smile on Arthur's face, he sighed.

He can't wake Arthur up. He just can't.

Arthur looked peaceful and content. And after what happened yesterday that mattered a lot but what about his neck? Not Arthur's, Francis's. He can't wait like this until Arthur wakes up. What can he do?

Francis scrunched his nose trying to come up with something.

He could try to maneuver his hand from behind Arthur without waking him up.

Figuring it could work, he slowly tried to pull his hand from underneath Arthur's head. It was then that he realized two things.

First, Arthur's head weighed like a bag of bricks.

It was heavy.

How in the world could it be so heavy, was his skull made out of plutonium? The reason behind the weight could be his brain too but who was he kidding? Arthur was a bit of an idiot. Period.

However there was a possible answer to the heavy head of Arthur's, which was the second thing Francis realized.

His hand was asleep.

He tried to pull his hand away but gave up as soon as pain hit him like an oncoming bullet train.

Merde.

His hand was definitely asleep but his other limbs weren't.

And there was no painkiller to stop the pain snaking through his body with ferocity.

He needed his medicines.

He prodded Arthur's shoulder trying to wake him up.

"Mon cheri! Please-merde." He swore as another bolt of pain struck him.

Arthur grooved to Dancing queen and right across him dancing off rhythm was Alfred.

"Hey dude. Nice moves."

Arthur grinned as he shook his hips.

"I know right. I have been practicing every night."

"Every night?" Alfred gaped.

Arthur smirked as he did a hand jive. "So what do you think?"

"Merde!"

Arthur frowned as he heard the voice bellow out disturbing Agnetha's vocals. Who was that?

"Arthur wake up. Please. Mon Dieu!"

Arthur looked at Alfred who was dancing undisturbed by the voice. He shook his head. It must be his imagination.

"Mon cheri please."

Arthur ignored it and continued to shimmy but something kept nudging at the back of his head. That voice sounded familiar. There was a heavy French accent. And that voice…

"You are a dancing queen."

Arthur smiled. Yes he was a dancing queen.

"Young and sweet."

Cute too.

"Only seventeen."

Seventeen? Well thank you.

"Dancing queen…"

Arthur smiled as he grooved. This is the life.

"Arthur!"

Arthur frowned. He was the dancing queen. Who dare interrupt the queen? Where is the respect? He is the queen damn it. No one has manners.

"Please."

The voice sounded like it was pleading. Arthur stopped dancing and looked at Alfred.

"What's the matter dude?"

That voice was familiar. Very familiar.

"_Arthur."_

Francis.

What did he want?

"Please wake up."

Arthur's eyebrow rose. Well that was convenient. However… he looked around him in confusion. People were laughing and dancing around him. He looked at their bell bottom jeans and glossy shirts and skirts. He then looked at Alfred who was giving him a goofy smile. His red shirt was stained.

Arthur swallowed. He knew where he was. He hadn't stepped in here in years.

"Hey dude. What is the matter?"

"Arthur, please wake up."

Arthur looked at Alfred. At his easy smile. His twinkling eyes.

"I need to go."

Alfred's eyes lost their twinkle. He shuffled his feet and looked disappointed.

"Why?"

Arthur's chest felt heavy. He tried to not feel sad as he noticed how upset Alfred seemed. He couldn't stay here any longer. He had to go.

"Mon Cheri please."

"Arthur. Dude."

Arthur felt terrible. His stomach churned as he tried to wake up. This is a dream. That is all. Just a dream. All he has to do is wake up and everything will go back to normal. He opened his eyes and saw a pale face with blue eyes and he tried to keep his eyes open but he found them closing again.

"Dancing queen. Feel the beat…"

Oh no. No. No.

Arthur struggled to get his eyes open again. But they didn't budge. He could see darkness all around him. There was no sign of anyone, just him, the darkness and the music which was getting louder by the second.

He tried to open his eyes again and they opened just a bit. He could see the face again. Francis. Arthur tried to ask for help but then his eyelids shut again.

"…you can jive. Having the time of your life."

Arthur screamed.

Not even a few seconds later Arthur felt pain. A shit ton of pain on his cheek and his eyes opened wide in shock. He stared at the wall and noticed there was a patch on the wall. Moisture probably.

Fuck. His cheek stung.

He rubbed it gently and turned around to see Francis with his fist pointed towards him.

"You punched me." Arthur stated.

"I didn't know what to do. You were writhing and you looked terrified but you weren't waking up." Francis gushed out. When the full extent of what he had just done hit him a few seconds later, he felt guilty. That had not been a good way to wake Arthur up.

"I am sorry."

Arthur smiled gratefully. "What are you apologizing for? I have to thank you for what you did." He looked at Francis who looked confused. Very, very confused.

Arthur chuckled and said gently, "Thank you."

Francis didn't know what to say. He just punched Arthur and Arthur was thanking him instead of yelling at him. Even though the punch was well-intentioned it would still have hurt so why was Arthur thanking him? This was unlike the brit he knew. What happened?

Arthur stood up, unaware of the questions plaguing the Frenchman and headed over to the side table. He needed an aspirin. That dream… oh god. It had been so long since he had that dream. So long. And now after so many years it was back.

He took out an aspirin from the drawer and noticing the other occupant of the drawer, he looked up startled. What time was it? Francis had to drink his medicines after breakfast and oh fuck.

He pulled the bag of medicines and turned around, "Wait I will get-".

It was then that he realized Francis was lying on the floor.

"What are you doing on the floor. You are injured, idiot. Can't you take better care of yourself?" He looped an arm around Francis's waist and tried to lift him up which was not an easy task. Especially considering that Francis was heavy and Arthur hadn't eaten anything since lunch the previous day.

Francis tried to stand up but his legs hurt… well to be honest everything hurt. He had no other option but to rely on the brit even though he didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already was.

He looked at Arthur who rather gently got him up onto the bed. He was about to thank him but Arthur cut him off.

"I'll get you some water and crackers. Drink your medicines and take some rest. All right?"

Francis nodded.

Arthur went out of the room towards the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. What had happened to this place?

There were no Chinese take-out cartons, no dirty dishes.

The dishes and cutlery were all kept away inside the pantry and he was sure the framed pictures on the wall were shiny. He walked towards the counter and realized that the entire counter top had been scrubbed clean. Upon further observation, he realized so was the floor and the dining table.

He sunk down onto the bar stool. He knew who did this. He didn't have to but he had done it anyway. He had done what Arthur should have done.

It should have been him who cleaned the place up after his family left but instead he had gone away to cry leaving Francis alone by himself in the middle of a messy apartment. And instead of coming inside to knock some sense into Arthur as he should have done, he had instead cleaned everything up even though he was injured and couldn't even use his right arm properly.

Arthur laid his head on his hands. He tried to not get upset but he couldn't hold it in anymore. His eyes prickled as he felt his chest tug. He had screwed up. Like always. And others had paid the price for his mistake. Like always. Why can't he do at least one thing right? It was like as if he was Midas but instead of turning everything he touched into gold, he just ruined it all.

"_You are the most selfish person I have ever met. You don't need a family. You would be fine by yourself."_

His father had been right. He was selfish. Always have been and always will. He doesn't deserve anything good.

A tear ran down his cheek and Arthur didn't try to wipe it away. He doesn't deserve a family. He doesn't deserve anyone at all. He always knew he would end up alone. And that is what is going to happen. He will be all by himself with no one by his side and it's going to be lonely as hell.

And he deserves it.

Ten minutes later Arthur walked into the room carrying a glass of water and a plate laden with crackers and cheese. Francis grinned upon seeing the food. Finally Arthur le hérisson had arrived.

"Do you know something mon cheri?"

"Hmm?" Arthur raised an eyebrow upon seeing Francis smirk.

"I think you would make a cute nurse."

Arthur looked at francis surprised and as the compliment sank in, his cheeks reddened.

"Stop it. I am not a nurse."

"True. But I am not saying you need a degree in nursing. The sexy outfit would do. A sexy pink outfit. Mmm"

Arthur carefully placed the items on the table before grasping Francis by his neck and strangling him. Not enough to kill him just enough to create fucking loads of pain that would make him crawl back into whatever hellhole he came out of.

"Arrrtthur, leggo." Francis squirmed trying to get Arthur's hands off of him.

Arthur let go and continued to boil in anger. "If you ever say that again wanker, I will cut you up and throw your itty bitty pieces to Ludwig's dogs. Do you understand?"

Francis grimaced in pain and massaged his neck. Merde. Arthur's sense of humour must be like a delicious British snack. Non existent.

Arthur carried the plate and handed it to Francis. "Here eat this. I will get you your medicines. After your meal take them alright?"

Francis nodded and quickly took the plate. No need to tick him off even more right now. Though after the meal, it's open season.

He ate the cheese and found himself smiling. Cheese for breakfast, what more could he want? Well a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon would be exquisite and maybe a few lovely red grapes. But the cheese is wonderful on its own.

Arthur got the pills out and smiled softly as he saw Francis enjoying his food. He left the pills on the table before going out of the room. He had important work to do.

He searched on google for the contact number he needed and then dialed it on his phone. After a few seconds a person replied.

"Good morning, this is the head office of Louis Vuitton. How may I help you today?"

"My name is Arthur Kirkland, I need to know a few important details of an employee of yours. His name is Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur took a pen and a notebook from a drawer in the pantry and continued, "He got into an accident and has forgotten all the events of the past two years. I need you to tell me his address and any emergency contact number he might have."

"Sir, I am sorry we cannot give out such information."The receptionist replied.

Arthur tried not to frown, "Look here miss, this is important. He needs to go home and he is completely lost so please help me out."

"Sir, I am afraid I cannot-"

"Can't you just run his name on your data base and at least tell me the contact number. Please. I don't know what else to do. This is my only option."

It was silent on the other end of the line and Arthur wondered if she had hung up on him. This was his only lead and he was more than ready to call her again or even a hundred times. Though it's guaranteed he will be fucking pissed off but he can't let this chance go. He already let one chance walk by. He can't do that again.

"Sir, tell me his name I will see if he is on the database. However if you need any details you have to come to the head office and talk to the HR manager."

Arthur grinned, "Perfect. His name is Francis Bonnefoy. B-O-N-N-E-F-O-Y."

Yes. Oh fucking yes. He can just hop over to the head office and everything would be done. And the problem would be solved. How come he didn't think of this any sooner? Gosh he is an idiot.

"Francis Bonnefoy is his name, am I correct?"

"Yes." Arthur felt excited. The information was so close. So fucking close. A meeting with the manager, then a call and voila Francis could go back home. Arthur's grin slightly faded. He will go home. That's great isn't it? That's what they both want. Right?

"Sir, can you hear me? Sir?"

Shit, he hadn't paid any attention. "Yes. I can hear you. Could you come again?"

"Of course Sir, I can do that for you. As I said before, Mr. Francis Bonnefoy resigned a year ago."

* * *

**I hope you liked the chapter. I am sorry if you didn't. Do stay tuned because starting next chapter things get very interesting.**

**So what do you think happened to Arthur that made him this way?**

**You can tell me what you think by writing a review. Or if you have anything else to say you can review too. Constructive criticism is always welcome.**

**Thank you for reading this chapter. Have a nice day. And hopefully you will be there again for the next chapter and if so then see you again later.**


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